


A Year From Now, We'll All Be Gone

by ClarkeStetler, Goosenik



Series: As Many Lifetimes with You as I Can Get [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Boys In Love, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Has Issues, Charles Xavier Needs a Hug, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Lehnsherr Loves Charles Xavier, Erik has Issues, Eventual Smut, Evil Sebastian Shaw, Friendship/Love, Gay Sex, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Marvel Universe, Mutants, No Beach Divorce, Protective Erik, Sebastian Shaw Being an Asshole, Soul Bond, Superheroes, Time Skips, True Love, X-Men: First Class (2011), X-Men: First Class References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClarkeStetler/pseuds/ClarkeStetler, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goosenik/pseuds/Goosenik
Summary: Charles Xavier is seventeen when he is abducted and taken to Sebastian Shaw's 'school' for young mutants, a pretty name for a torture facility created to churn out living weapons in his army. Erik Lensherr has already been there for seven years. They've been stripped of their names, but they can't be stripped of who they are. That's not, however, for lack of Shaw's trying.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Series: As Many Lifetimes with You as I Can Get [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994272
Comments: 49
Kudos: 128





	1. Welcome to Hallow Hall: Charles, 2007

**Author's Note:**

> A modern mutants AU: gifted experimentation. This is split into a series. Part 1 is set in 2007 and takes place in Shaw's 'school,' where Erik and Charles meet for the first time.
> 
> Disclaimer: None of these characters are ours (except for two OC's of little importance), or they would have ended up happily together and would have been spared the ugly-ass Beach Divorce featured in the movies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles meets Erik, although he doesn't quite know who it is he's meeting, or where they're meeting at. Telepathy ensues.

It was an odd thing, to know your name but not be able to say it.

It was the first of the binds to be put on Charles, the first invasion. The boy’s name was Charles Xavier. He knew this, of course. He was seventeen years old, of course he knew his own name. But, as the blonde woman watched him coolly, he found himself stalling, like a car breaking down. “My name is-” his words cut off, his throat closing up with a choke. She watched him, cool eyes remote, and he stared up at her. “My name is C-” the choke was more painful this time, like someone had yanked on a choke chain. Charles wheezed, catching his knees. 

“Give up,” she advised softly. “It’s easier if you don’t push it, sugar.”

“Why?” He found his voice again, though it came out hoarse. “Why take my name?” 

“Because your name indicates that you are someone.” She crossed her legs elegantly. “Which you no longer are. You’re just Twelve now.”

“Twelve? Out of what?” He stared up at her and she smiled, clapping her hands together.

“Excellent question. Come on, I’ll give you the tour and introduce you to the others.” She stood on heels that were three inches high, brushing nonexistent dust off of her white dress.

“Others,” Charles -now Twelve- echoed, staring up at her, and she smiled, tilting her head at him. 

“Up, Twelve. We’re not going to tolerate any sort of rebellion, here.” He couldn’t hear anything from her, a diamond-like shield blocking and refracting any attempt quite painfully. He flinched at his own attempt and stood slowly, his feet moving numbly as she led him out of the room. She moved forward smoothly, leading him down the hallway. “You’re at Hallow Hall, Twelve. You’re here to learn how to train and enhance your gift. In a safe place, with others like you, where you can’t do any damage to the rest of society.”

“I wasn’t damaging society,” He countered sharply. “I was in _school_ , I was-”

“When I want your opinion, I will ask for it,” she interrupted coldly. “You are here, and until you graduate from the program, you won’t be leaving here.”

“Program,” He echoed, his eyes narrowing. “A program built to _enhance_ individual abilities while simultaneously stripping us and repressing any sense of individuality? How do you think that would be conducive to growth?”

She laughed, the sound light and dry. “They were right, you are a smart one. No surprise there, graduated high school at fourteen and you were doing just fine in Oxford at your age… but smarts aren’t going to help you in here, honey. Honestly, you might want to dumb yourself down a bit. Your peers won’t like you pretending you’re better than them.”

“Peers.” Potential allies. Others like him. A way out. He found himself counting the windows, noting the doors and possible exits as they passed. He wasn’t going to stay in this goddamn place, he was going to get out. This, whatever this was, wasn’t good. He hadn’t stayed in Kurt’s house, and he wasn’t going to stay here, either. She laughed again and Charles tensed, each muscle tightening and locking down at her mockery. “How could you betray a fellow telepath? We could _learn_ from each other, we could-”

“Learn? From you?” The glance she cast back over her shoulder was pure ice. “Unlikely. Honestly, Twelve, I doubt you’ll make it a month in here. Ah, here’s the dayroom. Over there are Two and Ten. By the window is Eleven.” She flicked her finger at each in turn.

Eleven was petite and blonde. Her mind was a brutal, barren landscape, one that had Charles staggering back a step despite himself. It was empty, so empty it hurt, and he found his mind reeling and reaching out desperately in the opposite direction. It hit Ten’s mind next. She was sharper, and her mind was almost hot to the touch.

 _New kid looks like a puppy. Won’t last the week_ , she predicted in harsh Russian tones, taking a drag from a cigarette held loosely between two fingers. She was a brunette and lovely, though her dark eyes were too large and cynical for her face. _Just like Nine…_

He turned from this mind to the last, the one that glowed like a lighthouse amongst the others. ‘Two’ was taller and looked older, maybe eighteen or nineteen. His face was sharp and angular, and he looked like someone from a Gothic romance-era novel with short dark blonde hair and nearly-black green eyes. His mind was calm and quiet, a steady and solid presence that Charles had never experienced before. It glowed like an ember, smoldering and incandescent.

Two looked back at the interlopers to the room, his eyes focusing on Emma first. He didn’t like her, Charles caught, and noted in no small amount of fascination that this mind operated more in general emotions than full thoughts. He loathed her and there were shadows of pain echoing behind the anger. Then he turned that endless and intense focus on Charles, looking him over slowly.

 _Pretty,_ he thought in slight surprise, focusing on Charles’ eyes, and Charles found himself caught there, trapped like a bird in a cat’s paws, a slight flush brushing over his arms and cheeks like paint. Two looked back at Ten, and motioned to Charles slightly. “New boy,” he said, voice low. He was German, Charles noted from the accent, fascinated by this.

“Mmh.” Ten wasn’t outwardly interested, blowing out smoke at the ceiling. “He looks soft. A new one will be in his room by Monday.” _But he’ll take the heat off us for this week at least,_ she noted silently, and Emma Frost laughed.

“Stay here.” She clapped his shoulder and Charles moved away sharply, more out of reflex than intent. “I’ll be back to get you in half an hour or so for your first session. By all means, catch up with the others. I’m sure they’ll have tales to tell you… if they care to.” She wiggled her fingers at him in a mockery of a sweet wave, then left, her heels clicking softly on the floor in her wake.

Charles watched her go, internally examining the diamond of her shields. Sharp. Hard. So far, they were flawless. But there had to be a chink in there. No telepath’s shields were truly unbreakable, he knew this as well as anyone ever could. They all had a weak spot. Charles just had to find hers.

“Rivers and roads,” Eleven murmured faintly to the window. “Rivers and roads.”

“‘Leven, come sit down,” Two called, then looked back at Charles. “Welcome to the family,” he said, looking him over with an external skepticism that his internal mind didn’t necessarily share. Two’s mind, strangely, was lingering on Charles’ curls and the color of his eyes, the sound of his voice. “Enjoy that.”

“Where are we?” Charles tracked Eleven’s progress as she slowly wandered from the window and to one of the squashy armchairs. They looked, at first glance, like they might be comfortable, but they were threadbare in several places, revealing metal poking through, and in the spots where they weren’t, the upholstery seemed hard and uninviting. “Geographically,” Charles clarified as Eleven sat, curling in on herself and tucking her head against her knees.

Two waved a hand and metal creaked inside the chair Eleven was sitting on, then looked back at him. It took Charles a moment, then he realized that Two must have been trying to make the seat more comfortable for her. “No idea. None of us know and they won’t say.”

“They.” Charles crossed the room quickly, studying the grounds from the window. The trees were bare, that was a good sign. It meant he was still in the Northern Hemisphere, then. His last memory of a date was November 15th, and he couldn’t have been asleep for more than two days with the degree of stiffness in his muscles. “How many adults? Emma and…?”

“Shaw.” Ten’s voice was cold, her thoughts suddenly _painfully_ hot, searing via proximity. Charles retreated behind his own shields quickly. “Just the two of them. They leave us alone unless they need us for a ‘session.’ We’re the ones who clean and cook. No one else ever comes in or out. It’s just Emma and Shaw.”

“Shaw.” Charles tasted the name, continuing to study the grounds. The trees weren’t coniferous, so they couldn’t be too terribly North. Unfortunately, the group was made up of a Brit, a Russian, and a German. Eleven sounded like she could be American, as did Emma. There was no hint on geography based on their origins… But perhaps that didn’t matter. Unless Shaw was also a telepath, he couldn’t keep Charles out unless Emma shielded him all the time. But if he could distract her, if there was any time at all where he was unprotected… “Are you able to think your names, or are they blocked from thought?” Calling them all numbers would become exhausting rapidly, and, more importantly, it would reinforce the intent that Emma and Shaw had renamed them with.

“Think them?” Ten’s eyes were on Charles abruptly, her thoughts turning from considering how to get more cigarettes in favor of running rampant and tense with violent suspicion and mistrust. Charles didn’t react to the nature of these, well used to this suspicion.

Two looked at him for a long moment, then, “He’s a telepath,” he said, and surprisingly, there was no fear or worry attached to that. “We _could_ think our names, but if they hear us using them, it wouldn’t go well.” He flicked back to a memory that tasted like blood and rang with screaming. 

Better for him not to even know, then. Better that he not be able to make the mistake that would get them so punished. Charles nodded slowly, inclining his head. “I see.”

“Rivers and roads.” Eleven drew designs slowly on the cushion of the couch and he studied her small form. She was a petite thing, maybe fifteen or fourteen.

“Is… she….?” Charles didn’t know how to approach tact for this, didn’t know how to ask the question on the tip of his tongue.

“What, you can’t _read_ it?” Ten’s hostility rose, and her accent was thicker as a result.

“Ten.” Two didn’t look away from Eleven, watching her with a strange mix of emotions that was difficult to read- fear, sadness, affection, and resignation shifting in a kaleidoscope. “It’s not his fault. He is what he is.”

__

“ _Da,_ ” she agreed shortly. “And Frost is what she is, and Shaw is what he is. Ptitsa of a feather, Two. You don’t know that he’s not working with them. If he is, we might as well end him now. If he’s not, he’ll not last the week.”

__

“Charming,” Charles noted with a small chuckle, reaching out toward Eleven’s mind cautiously. It was like a barren, scorched wasteland. Thoughts drifted through the wasteland like tumbleweeds, fragments and images and memory more than actual thoughts. _Chair, cold, papers, rivers, roads, home, chair._ It all felt very frail, like touching an empty birdshell with his fingertip. It was less startling now that he knew what to expect, and he found his fingers brushing against his temple as he watched her, delving just slightly deeper. There was more substance, beneath that shadowed and burned layer of her mind, but again it was _so frail…_

__

Charles felt eyes boring into his face and realized that Two was watching him, trying to figure out what he was doing. _If you can hear me, be careful with her. She needs help, not more harm. I will break you if you try._ Anger boiled beneath the surface of the thoughts and Charles realized with sudden interest that the calm, cool exterior was hiding a very serious amount of rage. He couldn’t blame him, if what he suspected about this place was true. More concerning was the fact that Charles found that anger attractive. Fury like this normally set him on edge after his experiences at home, but this wasn’t normal anger. This was anger born out of a protective instinct, something Charles had very little experience with.

__

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my friend.” Charles offered him a smile and crossed to crouch next to Eleven, searching her face. She barely even seemed to notice him, still drawing patterns on the cracked leather of the chair. Charles’ chest ached. “Ten,” he said absently, resting his hand on the arm of the chair. “I am absolutely sure that you could make a _stunning_ bonfire out of me if you so chose, but I will ask that you hold on the friendly fire while I do this.”

__

Angry silence on her part, _British bastard_ echoing across her mind, and he chuckled, returning his fingers to his temple as he sank back into Eleven’s mind. It was _cold_ here, and he wondered as he searched through her thoughts and memories if her ability was cold-based. Weather or temperature, or maybe water or ice? Fascinating, really… But her mind was the important thing, the frail shell beneath the salted earth.

__

“Rivers and roads,” she mumbled. “Til I…”

__

“Reach you. That’s right, love, you’re doing very well.” He was barely aware of the words leaving his lips as he reached down, sifting through the dirt to try to clear it away from some of the thoughts inside. Memories- sharp and extraordinarily bright- and he let out a small laugh of wonder. “Oh, you’re absolutely magnificent,” he assured her. “That’s lovely.” 

__

But it had been a while since she used her gift, nearly two weeks. The sessions, the memories of which were blurred and bright red as if they were made of freshly-burned skin, had made it harder and harder since then. They were angry she wasn’t using her ability, and their methods were pushing her farther from it rather than closer to it.

__

“What do you see?” He felt rather than saw Two move to crouch beside him.

__

“Her ability isn’t offensive. It’s not made to… endure, it’s made to flee. So she’s burying herself, dissociating.” Charles blinked out of the images slowly, sinking back into his own skin. It was shockingly warm back in reality, and he rolled his shoulders back in an attempt to dispel the discomfort. “She needs to use her power, it would help, but it’s out of reach because she’s too-” he turned his head, finding him so, so close, and was slowly made aware that his mouth had gone rather dry as his eyes dropped to Two’s lips for a brief second. Charles focused on his eyes again quickly with a thrill of what felt almost like panic. “She’s too scared,” he finished quickly, flushing.

__

Two considered this, looking at her thoughtfully. His hair was such a dirty blonde that it was almost brown, and his eyes had more green in them than black when they were this close. Charles pulled himself away from examining him and let himself see what he was thinking. Two was thinking about who she had been when she’d come, and was comparing it to now. She had gone from being nervous and flighty, but sweet, to downright hollow and the shell she was now, in less than three months. It upset him deeply, awoke protective instincts in him that he hadn’t known he had. “What do we need to do to help?” Two asked quietly.

__

“She needs to feel safe,” Charles said, shaking my head helplessly. “And that-”

__

“Twelve,” Emma’s voice rang softly from the doorway, all too content. “Time for your session, sugar.”

__

“Don’t make eye contact,” Ten advised him abruptly, stamping her cigarette out on her own forearm. She avoided meeting Charles’ eyes and seemed more interested in examining the hole she had made in her sleeve, but he felt her send a small pulse toward him, a grudging sort of appreciation for the attempt to help Eleven. _It’ll just piss him off worse_ , she added after a moment as he rose to his feet.

__

“Just do what he wants. Ignore everything else.” Two met his eyes, staying near Eleven.

__

Charles searched his face, faltering for a moment. Two was shielding his mind as heavily as he could, burying it under that false layer of calm. Charles couldn’t blame him for this with a hostile telepath around, but suddenly, Charles wished he wasn’t shielding. That glimmer of fury he had glimpsed, even if only for that second, had been… oddly and shockingly beautiful. It would feel warm in the face of her freezing telepathy. Her name was well chosen- Frost was appropriate for her gift.

__

“Twelve.” Frost’s voice cracked like a whip and he turned away, ignoring the oddly beautiful boy with his oddly beautiful mind. She smirked at him as she caught the thought and Charles stood, crossing the room and brushing past her quickly.

__

It was funny-- he had never known how annoying it _actually_ was to be around a telepath all the time, having them know your thoughts. Raven was right, it was incredibly irritating.

__

Raven. He turned his thoughts away from her sharply, viciously, buried the memory of her under layers of loud thinking about Two’s eyes and the set of his jaw. He couldn’t risk them finding Raven the way they’d found him.

__

“You’re in for a rough go of it,” she informed Charles cheerfully as she led him down the hall. “Two’s really not the one to set your hat at, kiddo. Though, considering your choices are brain-dead, bitch, or asshole hot guy, I guess I understand.”

__

“Shut up,” he muttered, sending a prod at her shields. They refracted back, shifting and sharpening into points like some sort of hedgehog-diamond-kaleidoscope, and he kept his flinch from his face. She beamed.

__

“We’re going to have a lot of fun with you, honey. Sebastian’s got very high hopes.” She rested a hand on his shoulder and turned him, directing him into a small room that almost looked like a dental exam room, complete with silver instruments and a white exam chair.

__

“High hopes for what?” Charles redirected his efforts, scanning the building as carefully as he could. He could feel the three in the dayroom, could feel Emma, could feel… nothing else. Charles frowned and glanced up at her, then turned quickly as the opposite door opened and a tall man with shrewd blue eyes walked in.

__

“Hello, Charles,” he greeted him under a false veneer of pleasant civility. “Welcome to Hallow Hall.”

"Fuck you," Charles replied, and spit at him. 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goosenik: Hello, all! This is our first posted fic and I hope y'all enjoy it. Comment if you have thoughts, feels, criticisms, whatever! I think it's exciting to be able to reach out and connect with others and I look forward to learning and growing with you lot. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as we did writing it!
> 
> Clarke: Hello! I am Nik's co-writer. We've been writing together for years and years, and we finally decided to try and publish something for you beautiful people! I hope you like the world we make for you, you've been working on it for a WHILE. Enjoy!


	2. Library Talks- Erik, 2007

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik finds himself attracted to Hallow Hall's new acquisition and tries to distance himself from this. Let's be honest, he's not very good at it. It doesn't help that Charles has a bright smile and very little sense of self-preservation.

It was oddly hard for Erik to sleep. He kept seeing blue eyes and a mouth inches from his own, a ridiculously soft British accent right beside his ear. He knew that they could have better warned Twelve, better prepared him for what was about to happen. Erik could all too vividly remember his first session, the feeling of ceramic knives digging into his muscles as Shaw’s cold voice directed him to _lift the car_ , and every time he managed to get close to sleep now, he could see Twelve, too bright and young-looking, screaming in his place. It left Erik glowering at the ceiling, deeply ill-tempered and disturbed.

Twelve had tried to help Eleven. Would he be able to? It wouldn’t matter in the end, of course. It hadn’t mattered whether or not Eight wanted to live (he had, badly) or Nine had been sweet (he had lasted only days after Ten’s arrival, Erik had seen them carrying his broken body out in pieces). Eleven had equal chances of making it out of here whether her mind was together or not… but Erik still found himself wishing, likely in futility, that it were possible for her to be able to be whole. Twelve hadn’t hesitated to look, to see if there was something he could do.

Ten suspected that their newcomer was a plant, someone to influence and control them from the inside. It was possible. Twelve could make anything up about Eleven, claim that he was helping, and they would never know if it was a lie or not because _they_ couldn’t see inside her head, and she rarely spoke. He would know what they were thinking and root out any dreams of rebellion. With his slim build and large, guileless sapphire eyes, polite accent and sweaters at least two sizes too large for him, he looked the opposite of threatening. It would be easy to overlook him as a potential danger.

But for some reason, whether or not he was a plant, Erik couldn’t sleep for thoughts of him, alternately in pain and in… other ways, that made him pray fervently that neither Twelve nor Emma were close enough to hear. After a while, he sat up and kicked off his blankets, going to the door and moving through the hallway to where Twelve’s room would be. 

He could still remember the confusion of those first few days. He’d thought that everything would all be locked up at night, but One had laughed sharply at that idea. Erik could still remember One’s laugh so vividly-- it had almost been a _bark_ of a sound. He had explained to Erik that, unless they were being punished and trapped in solitary, they were free to move about the manor at night. With the threat of pain and a telepath who knew what they were doing, Shaw was confident that he would catch anything close to an escape attempt. And he had, many times. 

Erik stopped outside his doorway and glanced in through the little window on the door. Twelve was inside and was sitting up despite the late hour, his eyes shut and hands palm-up on his knees. Meditating? A flicker of scorn in Erik’s mind- how could meditation do anything- but he didn’t speak, merely continued to take the sight in. He had the lights on, the bright fluorescents illuminating bright red spots on his cheek and arms, but Erik didn’t see any blood.

It wasn’t surprising. Shaw had been on a burn-and-electrocution kick for a month or two now. It provided equal pain but with less likelihood of death. It certainly wasn’t fun- your muscles tended to shiver and jerk randomly for a few hours after, but it was far less horrific than some things had been, and they were tolerable. He knew that, so why did the brightness of the burns against all that pale skin _bother_ him so much? Twelve would go through much worse, as Erik had. He could handle it, he had to. This wasn’t even that bad… but it bothered him regardless. The same way it had always bothered him whenever anything hurt Eleven.

Which was ridiculous, because he’d known her longer, and she was delicate and breakable and this boy was… was…

Well, beautiful. Erik watched him for a long moment, finding himself oddly and reluctantly soothed by the slow movement of Twelve’s chest, his unbelievable eyes just barely flickering under their lids, hidden for the moment. Erik allowed himself to study the other boy's face; all delicate features, softness and warmth and sweetness, even when he was just sitting there. Uncomfortably, Erik thought of his own sharp face, the smile people had told him reminded him of a shark, all hardness and sharpness and danger. The opposite of this beautiful, soft boy with the warm azure eyes and wildly curling and appealing hair.

He was about to return to his room when Twelve started slightly and opened his eyes, looking up at him as if he had always known Erik was standing there. A blood vessel had burst in his left eye, brilliant red marring the light, elegant blue of his iris. “Two,” he said in surprise, dropping his hands to his lap, and Erik, who had been caught staring at him through the window and silently prayed that Twelve hadn’t been _listening_ to all of the thoughts he’d had, slowly opened the door. “I- it’s late, isn’t it?” Twelve glanced around the room as if expecting to find a clock. He hadn’t been there long enough to realize that the only clock was in the dayroom, the only watch on Erik’s wrist. Just another way to take things from them, to control them and disorient them. Twelve focused on Erik again. “Are you okay?”

Erik gave a shrug, aiming for callousness. Whether or not he was a plant, he could be convinced to give up Erik’s perceived weaknesses under stress or pain. “It’s late,” he agreed, and chose to keep the doorway between them. “You can’t sleep either.” 

Although… the boy had asked if Erik was okay. Someone who was a plant, they’d act vulnerable, scared, hoping he would lower the target’s guard for that… right? That _sounded_ right, but he could be using that exact logic to gain Erik’s trust, knowing that this logic could follow.

Erik couldn’t put anything past Shaw after all this time.

“No,” Twelve admitted, leaning back against the wall. “But I’ve never slept well. Normally I read to help it, or work on my essays and assignments... I don’t have those here.” His eyes flicked over the bare room. “It could have been worse. Your first session was worse. I thought I might be able to get into his head, but Shaw is shielded somehow, more aggressively than just with Emma’s help. He must have some trick to block me. That leaves just Emma. She has to have a weak spot somewhere.” His forehead creased very slightly in thought.

Erik snorted and leaned back against the opposite wall of the hallway to create more space between them. It wasn’t safe to be drawn in by those blue eyes and earnestness, some part of him warned. The more open and connected he became with these people, the more damaging it was when they inevitably vanished. He had made that mistake often when he had first come here, and it had just gotten hammered in over and over what a terrible idea it was.

“She does have a weak spot,” he said to Twelve now, though. This particular bit of information wasn’t in any way giving up anything- even people who _couldn’t_ read minds knew it. “It’s Shaw. She’s head-over-her-stripper-heels for him and doesn’t believe anyone that he doesn’t give a shit about her. She’s a bitch. Things suck here, but there are things that are not so bad. We do have a library, actually. There’s not much there, but I can show you whenever.”

”That would be excellent.” Twelve’s fingertips trailed across his lips slowly, his eyes distant in thought as he said the words. He was quiet a moment, then, “You’re Two. Eleven. Ten. I’m Twelve. Where are the other eight?”

“Dead.” Erik tried _not_ to focus on those fingers that were tracing the beautiful mouth. Twelve was a telepath, and he would be aware of where his thoughts trailed. He was used to Emma, but this was different. Emma was never the _target_ of those kind of thoughts, except for maybe one or two of the new ones, before they realized what she was like. “The same story for all of them, though; either they couldn’t do it and ended things, or Shaw did.”

Twelve’s eyes darkened, shoulders tightening slightly. He was silent for a moment, then looked up at Erik, his blue-and-red eyes meeting Erik’s green ones. “I’m going to get you out, Two. I promise.” His lips quirked up into a smile. “And then you’re going to tell me your name. Sound like a deal?”

Erik snorted, inclining his head and succeeding in keeping a smile off his face. No weaknesses, no building friendships. There was no point. “All right. Fine, you have a deal. Get my ass out here and you can find out my name. Good luck, though. At least two of those eight died directly from escape attempts and what happened when they got caught. No one has made it out.”

As he said it, Erik was oddly disconcerted by the fact that Twelve might end up as the ninth gone from here. It was probably the accent, he told himself. He’d always liked British accents. Twelve’s smile widened, turning to a bright grin, and Erik felt his ears burn pink, remembering again that Twelve had heard everything. He was used to Emma reading his mind- this would take some time.

“Thanks. I’m quite partial to yours as well. I haven’t spent time in Germany-- is it beautiful?” He rested his elbows on his knees and Erik tried to hide his pleasure; compliments or any kind of softness was rare here. “I always thought I would go. A friend had invited me to go during winter break, but…” he clicked his tongue, gesturing to the building around them with a wry smile.

“Yeah, this place has a way of derailing plans. Germany is beautiful, yes. It’s the most beautiful country in the world. When you get to go, you’ll love it. It’s just absolutely incredible, especially the castles and forests.”

Twelve watched Erik for a moment, then, “You should get some sleep, Two. You look beat. Emma said they were going to grab me again in the morning, but I don’t know how often they take someone. I can try to keep them busy. Give you lot the day off. That seems to be Ten’s goal. Maybe it would endear me to her a little.” He laughed.

“Very few people are able to get her to like them.” Erik laughed at the thought. “She’s angry, and scared and hurt, and the way she deals with it is just being hateful. She’s not bad, though. She’s okay company, really.” He looked at Twelve, considering the advice he should have given earlier in the day, the same advice One had told him when he had arrived. “When they’ve got you, try to go somewhere else in your head, if you can. Don’t tense up too much when he touches you. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t try to attack him, it just makes him more angry and you end up bleeding more. Wait a week or two and you’ll stop getting called so often.”

Twelve nodded slowly, his eyes far away, dragging his fingers over his lower lip again. “Thank you, my friend. I’ll see you tomorrow. Keep an eye on Eleven for me-- I’d like to look at her again when I get back.”

“All right,” Erik agreed, once more firmly redirecting his thoughts about that lip and those fingers. “We will. What did you see that she can do, by the way? We never really knew, and we don’t usually ask.”

Twelve’s smile was brilliant, almost glowing, and Erik found himself caught by it, the expression almost enough to make the manor fade around them. “She can turn into a _bat_. Isn’t that the most marvelous thing you’ve ever heard in your life?”

Erik blinked at him, considering this as he tried to put his head back on straight. It was almost obscene, how gorgeous this Brit was. “She never told us that, she never _did_ that in front of us. I wonder why.” Had she been scared, afraid, ashamed of something? Had she been worried about the way that they would react to her power, or was it something else? “A bat. Huh. That’s interesting… I see what you mean about it mostly being defensive. A bat can’t really attack anyone, but it can get away.”

“Exactly.” Twelve smiled and tilted his head. “I’d like to help her. I think I could, but I’m not going to detail that thought. I don’t want to get you in trouble. Go, Two. Get some rest. You can’t take care of everyone all the time. You need to take care of yourself, too. I want to help with that.”

Erik scowled slightly and leaned into it, using the irritation to distance himself from the odd lurch that had come with Twelve’s offer. “I don’t need you or anyone else to baby me. I’m practically a grown man, I can stay awake for as long as I need to. The others are all young, they don’t know how to handle it. I’ve been handling Shaw for years.”

“How many?” He tilted his head, blue eyes relentlessly curious.

It wasn’t actual compulsion, Erik decided- this impulse to answer him didn’t come from one of his powers, it was just the earnestness, curiosity, and bizarre beauty of his face that was all captivating. He opened his mouth to tell him to focus on his own survival, then found himself answering him instead. “I’ve been here since I was thirteen. I don’t know what year it is, but guesstimating, probably seven years or so. A long time.”

His eyes widened sharply. “Bloody _hell_. And you’ve made it this whole time. You’re very strong, Two. You should be proud of that. What more could Shaw possibly want with you? You were just a child, he’s been honing you for seven years, what more could he ask?”

 _To own me._ Erik didn’t say the words that came to mind, though it was inevitable that Twelve would hear them all the same. Shaw knew that, were the walls to fall today, Erik would run. He would escape, he would breathe, and then he would come back and rip him to pieces, pin him to the wall like an insect and dissect him while he breathed. Shaw wanted to break that urge, to fully and completely own him in a way he hadn’t yet been able to.

“He wants to keep the tool he made. You’re right, he honed me. Why would he give up the best thing he’s created thus far?” It wasn’t a lack of being humble, it wasn’t arrogance. It was just reality. Erik was one of the strongest mutants he ever met or heard of, and he had always been the strongest here.

“You’re not a tool, and you’re not his creation.” Anger sparked in Twelve’s eyes and Erik watched him in fascination. Twelve had been calm, casual, nearly nonchalant about the entire situation thus far. There hadn’t been fear or anger on his face once, but now it was clear there, his posture shouting rage as clearly as the fact that it hung in the air around him, nearly palpable. “You would have been who you are regardless of his interference. He didn’t give you your gift, he didn’t direct it, he didn’t determine what strength potential you have. You owe him nothing. He is nothing, Two.”

It was gorgeous, his anger. It was like watching Ten’s flames light, like the first time you could properly use your powers and felt that first flare of just how strong you were. Erik couldn’t speak for a moment, watching him, then realized he needed to react. “Twelve, I’m sorry that you’re here. But you’ll learn very quickly that Shaw does whatever he wants with us. And I can’t lie and say that it’s not true, that I wouldn’t be as strong if he hadn’t… interfered.”

“You don’t know that,” he replied sharply. “You just know what he tells you. He’s not doing whatever he wants anymore. I’m not going to let him.” He calmed down now, focusing on Erik as his eyes crinkled up at the corners. “Sorry. Get some rest, my friend. You look like you need it, you really do. I’ll see you after my session in the morning.”

Erik studied him, finding his eyes tracing and memorizing the stubborn set of Twelve’s shoulders, and then turned and left without another word. It wasn’t safe to get too attached, he reminded himself. Ten was right, Twelve didn’t seem like he would last very long here.

But he found himself hoping that he did, nonetheless.

* * *

“Shaw has a shiny new toy,” Ten observed at breakfast the next morning, noting Twelve’s absence from the table. “Good. Keep him busy.” She took Eleven’s plate, placing half a grapefruit on it and dropping it in front of the wispy girl. Eleven nudged it slowly, but didn’t otherwise react. “What do you think of him? Twelve.”

Erik found himself taking the grapefruit and peeling it, and then he gave the pink flesh back to Eleven. “I think that he’s decent. I think he’s serious about helping Eleven, which is good. I guess I believe him. I don’t think he’s a plant.”

He didn’t say that he had been kept up half the night, thinking about how gorgeous Twelve had been when he had gotten angry on Erik’s behalf, on how smooth and warm his voice was, how his eyes promised safety and comfort and trust that they couldn’t deliver on.

Ridiculous. He was being fucking stupid: they were just eyes, the voice was just a voice. He _was_ pretty, with his cerulean eyes and his curls and his slight but graceful figure, and that voice was quite frankly insane, but it was still a bad idea to spend any more time thinking about him than necessary. This knowledge still hadn’t let him sleep.

“I don’t trust telepaths,” she grunted shortly, shoulders tense as Eleven started slowly picking at the grapefruit, tearing off tiny pieces and eating them. “But I won’t burn him if you think he could be helpful.”

“I think he could be helpful,” he agreed. “I think he’s genuine about wanting to help.” He understood her instinctive dislike of Twelve’s kind- Emma had been in their heads enough that it was easy to think that they were all like that, but… The only time Twelve had directly responded to his thoughts had been when Erik had initiated, or… well, he had eavesdropped on the accent comment, but he seemed to be trying to give them privacy. It was probably very hard to only respond to spoken words when you heard everything else. Erik pointed this out to Ten. “I mean, he can’t help what he is, any more than we can.”

She pressed her lips together noncommittally, looking away. She had been more bitter since Eight had died, although she had never really been _friendly_. Erik understood, to a degree. His escape attempts had always been single-handed, and as such he had always been the only one punished for them. But Ten and Eight had planned theirs together, and he had been the one to die for it. “He could try,” she said finally, and stood. “I’m going to go set the curtains on fire. Find me if you need me, _da_?”

“ _Sei vorsichtig_ ,” He reminded her dryly, tossing an apple into the air and catching it. Last time, she’d set fire to half the compound in the hopes of forcing Shaw to evacuate them, and they hadn’t been let out. It had been dicey for a bit, trying to avoid the smoke and flames when they had realized that Shaw was content to let them figure out their own problem. It was also when they realized that Zasha, while fireproof, did not have entirely smoke-proof lungs, and though she could create fire, she couldn’t _extinguish_ fire. “Enjoy yourself.”

She clicked her tongue and wandered out, the air visibly heating and shimmering in her wake. Eleven mumbled something to her grapefruit and Erik poured her a glass of water, trying not to look at his watch and consider how long Twelve had been in his session.

* * *

Twelve, it turned out, spent an enormous amount of time in sessions each day, so much so that the other three ‘students’ weren’t called for a week. Ten was obviously pleased with this and Erik glimpsed her leaving a water bottle at Twelve’s doorway here and there, a minute sign of thanks for him taking the attention off of her for a bit. 

To Twelve’s credit, he didn’t complain. He didn’t seem bitter that the focus was solely on him, and he didn’t rage about how unfair it was that he was being summoned so steadily. He would be returned to the Dayroom each evening, pale and unsteady, but would offer the others a smile and a short greeting each time. He didn’t ever seem to be bloody, and Erik deliberated on this for a while, considering whether the injuries were all burns, or were merely in places that his clothes hid. Twelve laughed when he finally asked him about it.

“Well, it’s all been in the mind, so far.” He wandered down the bookshelves of the library on the sixth day, fingertips bumping over book spines with reverence. It was midnight, and, as Erik had for the last six days, he had gone to see him after the girls were in bed. The other nights had consisted of Erik remaining in the doorway and speaking to him about random topics, but tonight, Twelve had asked for the library when he saw Erik approach. 

“Emma pokes around in my mind while Shaw prods me with burning instruments if I try to shield. But they said that tomorrow’s going to be different.” He frowned, the expression causing a slight crease in his brow. “I don’t know what they mean by that. It’s certainly painful to have a telepath as… well, Emma is not delicate, and she isn’t careful with her work when she’s looking around. But they haven’t been able to see any of my ability in action except for in my memories, because she’s shielded and his mind is… missing.” The crease deepened and he stopped to reach out, plucking a thick and dusty book from one of the higher shelves.

“Probably tomorrow it will be more physical.” Erik grimaced, leaning against the shelf. “Shaw likes to see how much pain affects our gifts, whether it shuts you down or hones and heightens it. For your sake, even if it’s not true, fake that it drives you into yourself. He learned his lesson from Eleven, and he’ll pull back a little if that’s the case, choose a different tactic.” It was a successful tactic most of the time, resulting in pushing the mutant to get angrier and stronger. It wasn’t until Eleven that they had found someone who reacted differently. “What book are you looking at?”

“ _War and Peace_. Tolstoy. I just wanted something familiar.” He fiddled with the binding thoughtfully, eyes distant. “It’s better if that’s his intention, if it’s just pain. Pain, I can take. But to test my powers, he needs a subject for me to work on.” His hands curled around the book tightly. “It’s only a matter of time, and I don’t know if he’ll make it one of you or some stranger, but there’s no good option. I don’t want to use my ability offensively, I’ve never wanted that.”

“If it helps, we’re all used to it and we know he’s a bastard. Emma’s in our heads all the time and she is much worse than you could ever be.” Erik pulled out a cigarette, then paused. “Does smoking offend you?” 

“No.” Twelve’s lips quirked up into a smile. “I’m used to it, I’m afraid. It’s kind of you to check, though.” He crossed the room and sat on the floor, leaning his back against one of the bookcases. It was an odd position, a clear departure from the available sofa and chairs that were scattered around. It couldn’t possibly be as comfortable. “Did you always smoke, or was it after Ten came along?” he traced the cover of _War and Peace absently_.

“After Ten.” Erik stretched out his legs, lighting it with the lighter Shaw had given him as a reward after a particularly “successful” session. “She was hooked and told me that they helped, sometimes. So I started it up. It does help to an extent, but I try not to smoke as much as she does. One day I’m going to break out of here and then I’ll stop entirely.” 

He didn’t put too much time thinking about when he would break out. It was dangerous to fantasize, dangerous not to be firmly grounded in the present, but Twelve was so perpetually hopeful for escape, it was hard to resist considering the future. “Where do you come from, Twelve? What was your life like before?”

“Comfortable enough,” he stated easily, but his eyes didn’t leave the cover of his book. “I’m intelligent, highly so. I graduated early and started university when I was fifteen. My life is one surrounded by literature and science, for the most part. Prior to university there were… some stressors. But it’s been a good couple of years aside from that.” Twelve studied Erik. “And you? I know you were a child, but you still had a life outside of here. A family.”

Erik nodded slowly as he processed this, filing away the idea of him being _so_ bright that he had started uni as a fifteen year old. Insanity. “I did. I was born in Germany, to a single mother who did her damndest to raise me well. She was a good person.” He played with the cigarette, trying not to think about what had happened, not to let the deep well of rage rise. “She’s dead now. Most of us, our parents aren’t around anymore which is why he could take us. But a few of us just were taken anyway. It’s not like we get out, and no one knows we’re here, so local police don’t exactly find us.”

“We’re going to get out.” He focused on Erik, his eyes deadly serious. “We will. And then the local police can have a field day.” He opened the cover of his book, then paused. “Oh, you speak Russian?” He glanced up at me in mild surprise at the thought he had plucked out of my head, and then the surprise turned to delight. “ _Four_ languages, _really?_ That’s incredible, Two. I only speak French, and very poorly, I’m afraid.”

Erik laughed, finding himself a little embarrassed at the praise and, surprisingly, not particularly upset about the mental intrusion. Emma did it all the time, Erik was used to it, and at least Twelve made an effort not to be too nosy. “There’s not much to do here, other than train and learn and hurt. Ten is Russian, and I’m teaching her German while she’s teaching me Russian. We’ve been at it for over a year, so things are progressing pretty well. She doesn’t like that book, but we’ve got some others that are Russian.”

“Well, Tolstoy is a lot to slog through,” Twelve agreed good-naturedly. “Incredible.” He shook his head and leaned back against his bookcase, rapidly becoming engrossed in the small, dim print. Erik could almost feel the focus of Twelve’s mind shift, leaving his and instead settling beside it companionably.

He was beautiful when he was reading. All focus, enough so that his body curved down toward the text as if he could fall into it. His hair fell into his eyes and he seemed not to notice, his eyes scanning the page almost unbelievably quickly. It was stillness coming from someone who was so constantly animated and active, and it was oddly breathtaking. His shoulder brushed against Erik’s, leaning into him very slightly, and Erik made the conscious decision to relax, allowing the invasion of his personal space. With Twelve, it didn’t feel so much like an invasion. He picked up the book he’d been reading, _Count of Monte Cristo_ , and opened it to his last place. Knowing of Erik’s anger and plots, Shaw had thought it funny to give him a book about revenge.

It was hours before Erik pulled himself out of the book and realized that Twelve had fallen asleep, his head somehow on Erik’s shoulder and _War and Peace_ tumbling loosely from his fingers.

Erik looked down at him and realized slowly that the younger boy had _freckles_. He’d been too far away for Erik to see that before. They had never been this close and Erik hadn’t allowed himself to stare. But he _did_ have freckles, and they scattered across the bridge of his nose and the tips of his ears. Adorable. A few even danced down his neck and vanished under his shirt, vanishing as they rippled across his collarbones. Erik tried very hard not to think about the shapes Twelves freckles might make on his skin, how he would like to map them.

His hair really was impossible. It was curly and fluffy and kinked up everywhere. Erik wondered idly if it was always this bad or if it was their terrible showers and water, if he had better things at home. He probably did. He was rich, apparently. Strange. He would have found Erik’s childhood unbearable, probably- no, actually, he realized as he watched him sleep. Twelve was sweet enough, he would make poverty work. As long as he had books, he would be content.

Erik reached out, touching his hair gently. “Hey,” he said quietly, marveling at how soft the dark locks were. “Twelve, it’s time to wake up, we need to go to our rooms.”

Twelve stirred, peering up at Erik sleepily, and made a grumbling noise that may have been a query. His face was only inches from Erik’s, close enough that he could see small flecks of darker blue in those irises. The blood had almost fully cleared out of the left one, which made Erik feel better. He blinked at him slowly, then raised a hand to rub at said eyes, lifting slowly off Erik’s shoulder. “I fell asleep?” he mumbled, the words slurring together somewhat. “Oh. ‘M sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay.” Erik realized after a moment that he still had his hand half-buried in Twelve’s hair and dropped it, embarrassed. “No big deal, I just think you’ll sleep better in a bed than on me.”

He mumbled something that sounded _very_ much like _I don’t know about that_ , and set his book aside, staggering to his feet clumsily. He turned, offering his hand to help Erik up, and Erik slowly reached out, taking his hand. There was no rule against touching each other, no mandated distance, but no one voluntarily touched each other here, unless they had to. This skin to skin contact was strange after years of not having it, and sent pleasurable shocks through him at the warmth and softness of his hand.

“Tomorrow, then,” he said, thumb brushing slowly across the back of Erik's hand, and then he pulled away, wandering down the hall and toward his bedroom. Erik stared after him, shock ringing through him with an almost painful intensity.

Erik was attracted to him, he admitted to himself finally. How could he not be? Twelve was gorgeous, brilliant, and kind. But it seemed like… maybe it was mutual. Maybe there was something there. 

But they still lived here, where Emma plundered their brains for information, where Shaw tortured them daily. Giving him more ammunition, _creating_ weaknesses, was a terrible idea. Erik knew better than even to make friends, but he couldn’t seem to stop that from happening with Twelve.

He absolutely could not risk the other boy or himself by doing anything further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Charles will learn Erik's name. And thank everything for that, because this numbers thing is surprisingly annoying to write.


	3. Strategic Moves and Lack Thereof: Charles, 2007

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is light murdering, panic attacks, and first kisses. It's a long, long couple days full of plot for our boys.

Charles spent the next few days in an odd sort of dance with Two. He knew that Two was attracted to him, of course. He was a telepath, and though he tried very hard not to go digging around in other people’s minds, keeping himself in his own when at all possible, sometimes the surface thoughts of others were… loud. Two’s thoughts in particular were especially eye-catching, both because they were about him and because Two’s mind was so blindingly bright. It was hard not to look at it under any circumstances. It was like a solar eclipse.

So he was in a somewhat odd situation. In the rare times where he had noticed that someone was interested in the past, he had never reciprocated. He had begun disentangling himself carefully from the friendship, not eager to lead anyone on, and had always managed to cool things down and quell any feelings before anyone had to get hurt by giving or receiving a rejection. It had always worked well for him.

He had never been interested in anyone who was also interested in him, however, and which led him to his current predicament. If he made any advances, it was clearly because he knew he was safe to do so. That was cheating in a way-- Two didn’t fully have the same luxury and confidence (although Charles had let his fingers linger somewhat whenever they touched). He would prefer for Two to make the first move on his own, without influence from Charles and without pressure. 

Equally off-putting was the fact that they were in a situation that constantly threatened their safety and lives, and that Sebastian Shaw was a homicidal maniac who likely wouldn’t take kindly to his test subjects cavorting. Two certainly thought that one or both of them would be maimed or killed if he found out, which led to Two’s reticence toward the idea of making the first move. 

And if Two didn’t fully and completely want to touch him, then Charles certainly wouldn’t make him. But Charles didn’t bring any of this up, because Two didn’t. It was the smart thing to do, but more than that, it felt like the right thing to do. It was the fair thing to do.

_“What you can do is amazing, Charles.” His father placed a train in Charles’ hands. “But… it can make people upset when you talk to them about things they don’t say out loud. Maybe they don’t know those things themselves yet, and that’s scary. Or maybe they just weren’t ready to share them with you. Check the lips, okay?” He pressed a kiss to Charles’ head as Charles explored the side of the desk with the train. “If the lips aren’t moving, don’t talk to them about what you heard.”_

He had been five, but the lesson had stuck, and had developed so much of his life and who he had become. It was one of his only memories of his father, and that made the lessons in that simple talk that much more important: _Don’t let people know what you can do. Don’t tell them what they don’t know. Don’t force them to talk about something they haven’t chosen to talk to you. Don’t go looking for memories and thoughts that aren’t on the surface. Keep it off your face_. The rules, of course, had gotten far more detailed as he had aged. His stepfather in particular had reinforced this message, given Charles extensive experience in following the rules to a T. 

So when Two spent half an afternoon thinking about how much he liked Charles’ blue sweater, he pretended to be arguing with Ten. When Two dropped his cup because Charles had leaned across him to grab the butter at dinner, Charles apologized for having bumped him. When Two spent _ten minutes_ studying the shape and color of Charles’ lips, Charles (with _enormous_ difficulty and with several counting exercises utilized in an attempt to keep his face from flushing) pretended to be engrossed in the collection of short stories by Kafka that he had unearthed in the library. He didn’t comment on any of these things, didn’t ask him any questions, didn’t bring attention to it.

It was difficult, and annoying, and _delightful_.

He was doing this precise exercise one afternoon, pretending quite studiously to be engrossed in a decision of whether or not to sacrifice his queen. He was going to lose if he let himself get distracted by Two’s gaze, which was focused on the curve of Charles’ neck. It was distracting enough that he was beginning to wonder if Two wasn’t doing it intentionally to throw him off. Charles resisted the temptation to look deeper and find out, instead moving his queen.

“Good _lord_.”

Charles felt himself stiffen at the cool, amused voice. It seemed perverse somehow for Emma to intrude on their library, a sacred space being desecrated. It didn’t help that both his and Two’s thoughts had been less than discrete. 

“What?” He asked, glancing up at her as he released the chess piece.

“Shaw wants you.” She crooked a finger, lounging against the doorframe of the door and looking all too pleased with herself. _Are you seriously asking me what? I’m shocked you’re keeping your hands to yourselves. It’s a bad idea, honey_ , she murmured with a superior chuckle against his mind, and he scowled at her. _How many times do I have to tell you that?_

“Whatever. Two, I’m going to claim that I won this one.” Charles pushed himself to his feet, flattening indifference in his expression and mind overtop the sudden, small lurch in his stomach. _Tomorrow will be different_ , Shaw had said. Different how? They weren’t taking Two with him, but that still left the chance that they were going to pit him against Ten or Eleven. “I’ll see you after or tomorrow, whatever comes first.”

Two watched him, nodding with a calm expression and a worried mind, and Charles followed after Emma, clearing and calming his own thoughts. He couldn’t afford to think about Two. He needed to focus.

“ Shaw offered Charles a smile as Emma led him into the room that was fast becoming all-too-familiar. Standing beside the bed was a man in a T-shirt and jeans, with a curiously slack expression on his face. Charles brushed against his mind, the gesture more automatic than breathing, and found with no small amount of horror that the stranger was nearly empty, his thought processes scooped out and burned black. 

“Who is this?” Charles felt his hands clench into fists at his side and fought to keep his expression even as Shaw rested a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“This is Dave, and Dave has agreed to help us further your training.”

“Agreed is a strong word,” Charles noted tightly, anger thrumming through his veins like drumbeats. This man did not want to be here, was barely aware he was here. This man was not aware of where he was, was only aware of _who_ he was in the vaguest sense of the word. “What did you do, just pluck the first guy off the street that you saw?”

“Don’t worry, he wasn’t important,” Shaw dismissed with a wave of his hand. “He was just a human, his life would have been meaningless in the grand scheme of things anyway.”

“No one is meaningless.” The words came out perhaps too sharply, and they tasted like bitter coffee as his father’s face flickered through his mind. Emma chuckled from behind him. 

“Ten’s wearing off on him,” she drawled to Shaw. “He’s getting a bit of a temper.”

“Ten isn’t wearing off on me, I just don’t bow down to petty bullies.” Charles felt a small sting as his nails cut into his palms. Two had warned him not to attack, not to make eye contact, not to tense up, but years of living with Kurt and Cain had trained the opposite instincts into him. He wasn't going to be cowed by a man like Shaw. He wasn’t going to be frightened by anyone again, not after so many years and after achieving such hard-won freedom. 

He was going to get it back. Had to. He couldn’t be a prisoner anymore. He would take Two with him, and Eleven, and Ten. They would make it out.

“He’s planning escape attempts,” Emma reported dryly from behind him. “Nothing concrete yet, but he wants Two and the others to help and get out together.”

 _Traitor_. Charles shot at her. In any other circumstance, he would have been _thrilled_ to meet another telepath. He never had. He had only met four other mutants in his life prior to coming to the manor. He would have loved to sit with her, speak to her, interrogate her and learn from her and question her on those diamond shields, those rigid lines, why her mind felt so _cold_ compared to everyone else’s. He felt like there should be some camaraderie, some sense of brotherhood between telepaths. They saw the world and the minds therein in the same way, they shared the same precise sixth sense.

But she didn’t feel that camaraderie, clearly.

“Two?” Shaw tilted his head, watching him with a sharp glint of interest in his eyes. “You’re becoming friends, then? I admit, I have a soft spot for him.”

“Kidnappers usually do,” Charles said acidly, and Shaw’s eyes glittered.

“Right, then. We’re not going to get much chatting done, I can see that. So. Charles,” and it unnerved him, how odd it was to hear his own name out loud. It hadn’t been that long, but suddenly it felt like too long. “I’m going to need you to stop Dave.”

“Stop him?” Charles frowned, and Shaw beamed, placing a knife in the man’s hand. 

“Yes. Before he kills you. Emma?” He nodded to her and Charles stilled. It was strange how he could feel her in Dave’s mind, a diamond spike of cold burrowing in deep beneath the surface. Charles still couldn’t see any flaws in the shield but, for a moment, there was _something_ there… And then Dave was turning, tightening his grip on the butcher knife and taking a step forward.

Shit.

“Stop,” Charles said, pushing at his intentions, and he obeyed. Shaw shrugged.

“Good, we knew you could do that much. And now with some shielding?” And this time, Emma’s spike didn’t retreat from Dave’s mind, instead digging in deeper. Dave moved forward again, jerkily and yet purposefully, and Charles took a quick step back.

“Stop,” he ordered, but the push slid against the diamond of Emma’s spike. The knife swung and Charles dodged quickly, ducking to avoid the blade as it sang through the air. He felt a sting as it sliced across his shoulder, and Dave turned, tightening his grip on the handle. “ _Stop_ ,” Charles repeated sharply, backing away from him. Dave faltered, but continued moving, and Charles felt a thrill of panic as he saw just how deeply Emma’s spike was embedded. “Shaw, if I stop him I’ll break his mind, I would have to carve _around_ Emma and he won’t-”

“His life would have been meaningless in the grand scheme of things anyway,” he repeated shortly. “Stop him, Twelve.”

“He’s a _person_ , goddamnit!” Charles caught Dave’s arm in his hands as he swung again, pressing up with all his might as the tip of the knife quivered inches from his face. “Stop,” he pleaded to Dave, trying to dig for the processes that surely still existed below Emma’s control. “Stop, I don’t want to hurt you. You don’t have to do this, you’re still somewhere in there. I know it’s not your fault, you aren’t in control, but please-”

Dave pushed harder, the edge of the tip pressing into Charles’ cheek, and Charles felt panic surge in his chest as blood slid down and onto his lips. He didn’t want to die here. He had promised to help Eleven, he had promised to get Two out, he wanted to see him again, he wanted to see Raven and Oxford and find out what Two’s lips felt like on his and he didn’t want to die here--

“ _Stop!_ ” He shouted it, mentally and verbally, and then, almost in slow motion, the man was falling to the ground. The knife clattering to the ground beside him, slightly bloodied but harmless and helpless beside its murdered master. 

Everything felt oddly numb and silent aside from a ringing sensation in Charles’ ears and he stared down at the human at his feet, feeling the world sway around him.

He had stopped. His lungs, his heart, his mind. It had all stopped.

He had murdered him.

“Oh, yes.” Shaw nearly purred it. “I think this will be a _lovely_ partnership, Twelve.”

And then the world’s swaying and the soft ringing stopped, and everything was dark.

* * *

“-then it should be easy to-” Ten. Charles heard her voice distantly, her thick accent breaking off in the midst of her argument. “Two! Twelve’s back! Shit, he does not look good.” Fingers on his face, with them bringing awareness back to his body. He was uncomfortable, he realized slowly, and finally registered that he was laying on a couch, the stiff and sharp places beneath him designating it as one of the couches in the dayroom. 

“ _Scheisse_.” Two’s accent, which was normally rather quiet, not nearly as thick as Ten’s, was deeper and thicker than Charles had yet heard it. It was probably so subdued due to being here for a decade, around Americans, he noted dimly. Probably Ten had been taken older in life, so her accent would naturally be stronger. That would have been somewhat interesting any other time, another piece to the puzzle that was Two.

Charles felt another set of hands on his wrists, then on his neck and face. “ _Fick mich_ ,” Two growled, and Charles felt himself being resettled. It felt better like this, though perhaps it was just from the feeling of Two’s gentle hands moving carefully across his body. “His pulse is fine, he’s just unconscious. We’ll have to wait and see what happens when he wakes up. Get a bottle of water. Eleven, do you have any crackers? Twelve might need them.” His voice softened just slightly as he spoke to her, as Ten’s did. They both liked her and took care of her when they could. It was sweet, really.

It was then that Charles realized with dawning intensity that he couldn’t really hear them. Their minds felt far away, so distant that he was hearing echoes of feeling rather than the thoughts themselves. A flicker of fear burned through him, pushing away the heavy weight and fog of sleep, and he pushed his eyes open, though they felt stiff and oddly swollen. Two was looking back at the girls, his hand resting on Charles’ arm and assuring Eleven that he wouldn’t eat all of her crackers.

Ten was retrieving said crackers from Eleven, her face sober and tired, but there were no thoughts behind that interpretation of her expression. The fear became more potent and Charles caught Two’s wrist. “I can’t-- I can’t--” He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t face the dreadful possibility that suddenly felt _too_ possible, and the world around him was suddenly _too deep_ , like he had been thrown off a boat and all that was beneath him was black, bottomless water. 

What if something had broken, what if he couldn’t hear ever again, what if this was _permanent_ -

“I can’t--” He met Two’s eyes, trying to force himself to breathe even though all Charles could do was look at his face and not his mind. His beautiful mind, so bright and brilliant, normally a lighthouse in the dark mental plane but now just the dimmest of stars so far out of reach and Charles was _alone_ , he couldn’t hear them, a sense had been stripped away from him and _oh God was it permanent it couldn’t be permanent please God, don’t let it be permanent_ -

“Hey.” Two gripped Charles’ shoulders, shaking his head quickly. His expression was calm and even and steady, like the rock, the lighthouse, Charles was starting to think of him as. Two moved a little closer, keeping hold of his arms and not loosing his grasp. “Breathe, you need to breathe. Just breathe. Can you sit up?” He helped Charles sit up very slowly, then moved his legs so his feet were on the floor. Charles mechanically allowed this, the panic swirling and building with horrific intensity into something like terror. _What if it was permanent_. He had never not been able to hear them, not since he had first manifested-

Two firmly pressed Charles’ head down between his knees, not unkindly but not carefully, either. “Breathe,” he instructed. “Slow. One, two, three in, one, two, three out. Breathe with me.”

Charles didn’t release his wrist, too aware of the panic, nausea, and horror thrumming through his veins as memory of this morning sank back in. Shaw, the knife, Dave. He had _killed_ someone, a man with a life and a future. He had murdered someone just to save his own skin… and now he couldn’t hear them. Punishment? Divine retribution? He wasn’t even sure if he believed in the divine, but suddenly it seemed sickeningly real, sickeningly possible.

“Twelve,” Ten barked. “Breathe with Two. You are freaking out.”

He flinched back to the present and forced himself to obey, sucking in an unsteady breath when Two directed him to. “I can’t hear you,” he managed to wheeze once the tightness around his lungs had eased up slightly. “I can’t- I can’t-”

“It’s okay.” Two left his free hand on Charles’ back, not moving away from the death grip the younger boy had on him. “Keep breathing slow, three in, three out. Come on. There you go. You just hit burnout, Twelve. We’ve all done it. Whatever he made you do, it wasn’t your fault. None of us will make you talk about it if you don’t want to. We’ve all done things we didn’t want to do. Just keep breathing. I know it’s… weird not being able to use your powers but they’re not gone. It’s just burnout. You’ll just need to sleep, and recover.”

Burnout. Charles relaxed slowly with the word, the fear gradually bleeding out of him. Burnout. Burnout was logical, burnout made sense. Two had mentioned it before, one night in his doorway. It was burnout, it was strain from pushing too hard, like a torn muscle. “Oh.” He released the grip on Two’s wrist, realizing belatedly that it most certainly had been painful. 

Three in, three out. Breathe.

Dave wouldn’t breathe ever again.

Charles took in a slow breath, feeling it rattle around in his chest. “Sorry,” he said, lifting his head to look at Two. “I’m sorry.”

“Drink and eat.” He held out a bottle of water and Eleven’s crackers, expression as soft as when he helped Eleven. In an odd way, that stung. Charles didn’t want to be pitied, didn’t _deserve_ to be pitied after what he’d done. “You’ll feel better after that and natural sleep. And what the hell are you apologizing for, Twelve, being scared after your first burnout?” He snorted, shaking his head. “We all were. I damn near jumped off the roof.”

“We could get on roof back then?” Ten sounded mildly impressed and Charles laughed a little, taking the water bottle slowly.

He had killed someone. Sure, it was in self-defense, but that didn’t change the fact that he had been alive before meeting Charles, and now he never would be again. Charles uncapped the water with unsteady fingers and took a slow drink.

He hadn’t known that it would happen like that, he hadn’t ever imagined it would _kill_ him. Break his mind maybe, leave him a shell, or in pain, but _kill him_ , he hadn’t known that stop would stop _everything_ , he hadn’t ever imagined that it would kill him.

He had murdered a human being to save his own life. Who was to say that Dave’s life mattered less than his? Yes, Shaw likely would have killed him anyway if Charles hadn’t, but that didn’t make it acceptable.

 _Never again_ , Charles decided viciously. He would never kill again. Not even in self defense. He couldn’t.

His mind, like a broken record, flicked back to the hollow brown eyes, the sound the body had made when it had hit the floor, the clatter of the knife.

“I…” Charles couldn’t say the words, couldn’t even think them to Two because of the lack of power at the moment. And he didn’t want to see the look on Two’s face, regardless of whether that look was forgiveness or condemnation. Both were awful. “I’m going to go and sleep. Thank you for the water, I- I appreciate it.” He stood unsteadily, his legs weak, and caught his balance with the back of the couch.

“Go slow,” Two advised, standing. “Use the wall. Steady yourself, it’ll help. Don’t try to go too fast.” He held out four crackers. “Eat them. It helps to settle your stomach or you might wake up throwing up. Ten had that once, I’m not usually nauseous after.”

Charles merely nodded a little, taking the crackers numbly, and moved slowly toward the door.

“Twelve,” Ten barked out unexpectedly, and he turned to see her watching him, expression inscrutable. “We’ve all done it. If you let it break you, then two people die instead of the one. Not your fault.” Charles found that his throat felt very tight suddenly and he rolled his shoulders back, avoiding her eyes. “Go to sleep,” she ordered, turning her attention back to Eleven. “Wake up yourself. Don’t let him win.”

Two gave her a smile, relaxing slightly, and nodded, looking back at him. “Sleep,” he repeated gently, green eyes intent on Charles’ blue ones. “And wake up yourself. We’ll see you later.”

* * *

But when Charles woke up, it was invariably from nightmares of bloody steel and uncomprehending brown eyes. He took to sleeping in the library, waiting until Two had left for his own room each night before slipping down the hall and back to the bookshelves. The dusty titles winked at him from their places, familiar and soothing as old friends. Tolstoy, Kafka, Heinlein, Capote, and Shakespeare surrounded him, small walls made of stacks of books that he surrounded himself with like a fort. It was childish, but effective. When he woke up, _stop_ ripping out of his throat like a blood-soaked prayer, he found himself facing pages and faded covers, a sight almost familiar enough to lull him into thinking that he was waking up in his flat for a few precious seconds.

The burnout faded quickly. It only took three or four days before he could hear Two again. It took a day longer to hear Ten and Eleven, but he didn’t question why. He knew why. It was because he _wanted_ to hear Two, wanted to be able to listen to his accented thoughts musing on Dumas’ works and the possibility that he would, in fact, kiss Charles at some point, although he had firmly admitted to himself that it would be a terrible idea. 

Charles always pretended not to hear these thoughts, instead acting as if he was absorbed in his novels. Two was always grateful that Charles ‘hadn’t heard,’ uncertain if he wanted to tip the scales that were so momentarily balanced between us.

Shaw didn’t call Charles again for those few days. He, in fact, didn’t call anyone.

“Does he do other projects?” Charles studied the chessboard that Two had found in a closet, musing on the fact that he hadn’t seen Shaw’s face in four days now. The chessboard was battered and cardboard, the pieces cheap and dirty plastic, but it came with such a familiar rush of _home_ that he had begged Two to play with him. Two had grudgingly accepted, mentally complaining about how unfair it was that Charles could request anything when his eyes were as big as they were. “Is he busy with other things, or are we his main venture?” Charles moved his bishop carefully.

Two’s lips twitched at the move, shifting his knight up without hesitation. “He’s got other things he does, papers he writes, books he reads, correspondences with other sick fucks. Things of that nature. I’ve heard he sometimes has other places he visits; we’re not the only facility he manages, but we’re the main one he’s focused on.” He considered the board, then sat back. “Sometimes when he’s quiet like this, it’s worse when it starts back up. He starts calling us two, three a day, every day, so we all go every day.”

Charles frowned, letting his fingers hover above a pawn as he considered this. “I see.” He moved the pawn; it had to be sacrificed, there was no way around it, then faltered as he released it. _Meaningless in the grand scheme of things_. A sacrifice that had to happen for the greater good. He shifted his weight, pressing his back against the shelf so he could feel the books digging into his spine slightly. He used the touch to grind himself into the present, to keep himself here and looking at that strong jaw, that battered chessboard, those beautiful hands. Two hadn’t asked what Charles had done, and Ten hadn’t mentioned it again, though they both had to know exactly what had happened.

Charles thought about it each time he glimpsed his reflection, the odd cut beneath his left eye a damning reminder of the session. It didn’t fade as quickly as the burnout, seemed to be as resilient as the nightmares, and Charles suspected with a sickening lurch each time he saw it that it would scar, would remind him forever what he had done.

Had they really all killed someone? Even Eleven? Was it Shaw’s way of breaking them, making them complicit in the sadistic game he was playing here? None of them could be innocents, after all, not if they were helping him and doing as he said… Charles dropped his hand, touching the copy of _War and Peace_ to his left. 

“How often does he call you?” He cleared his throat. “I know he’s mostly been focused on me the past two weeks, but you’ve been here seven years. I can’t imagine he has many limits he hasn’t pushed and expanded with you. Is he just waiting until you decide to join his side? Or does he still push you?”

“Both.” Two shrugged, thinking through his next move as he looked at the chessboard. Charles tried to keep himself in his own mind to avoid cheating, studiously focusing on Two’s spoken words rather than his mental processes. “He wants me to join him, thinks eventually I will. He wants it to be voluntary, like Emma, because then I can be his errand boy. But he also tests me. Keep in mind, I’ve been here since I was thirteen. My power has changed dramatically in that time, and he finds it interesting to see how limits change and powers adapt as we grow older. He changes the stimulus to see if I react the same way now as I did when I was fourteen, if I can take more and how it affects my abilities now, etc. He’s a sadistic bastard, but a very thorough scientist. He wants to know everything he can about us.” 

He looked up at Charles. “Mostly he calls us about once a week or so. Usually it goes down the line; I’m expecting to get called tomorrow. It’s fine. It’s not always terrible; sometimes it’s finesse work, or just simple tests. Sometimes it’s blood and screams, but not always. He does also test basics, on occasion. To see if the base changes with time and stress.”

Charles pressed his lips together briefly, feeling a sharp stab of discomfort at the thought of Two going into that small, sterile room. He had many times, of course, and he was more than strong enough to take whatever they doled out. But it still bothered him, in a visceral way that he couldn’t quite describe but knew exactly the origin of. “Be careful?” He asked, aiming for light nonchalance as he rested his elbows on my knees. “I know you don’t need me worrying about you. And I know Shaw wouldn’t kill you, he cares too much about you in his fucked-up way. But be careful anyway, if you can.”

Two looked back at the board, ears turning pink slightly. He was _happy_ at the idea of Charles worrying about him, pleased and embarrassed, and it was the most adorable thing that Charles had ever seen in his entire life. “I mean, you can worry,” he said, resting a finger on his knight as he pretended to think through his next move. “I worried some while you were there constantly. It’s not fun for anyone left after.”

Charles searched his face, brushing against his mind fondly. “I see,” he agreed quietly, then, to lighten the moment, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He nodded to the board with a smile. “I’ll take him in a heartbeat.”

His finger stilled on the little piece. “You wouldn’t. My knight is my favorite, you’re too noble to kill a knight. Aren’t you British?” He offered Charles a grin, and Charles was helpless to do anything but return it, warmth spreading through his body like alcohol.

“That means I wouldn’t kill the queen, my good chap, not the knight.”

Two laughed. “But _knights_ are more important. Knights are like… they’re supposed to protect everybody, queens just eat and get fat while their people starve. You’d probably be one of those knights if we lived back then, you’re so worried about goodness and morals and nobility.” He snorted. “ _Morals_. As if we need them.”

“Mm. While you’re one of those knights now?” Charles tilted his head, smiling at him. “Keeping Eleven and Ten safe, force-feeding me crackers and checking in with me every night?” He leaned forward, placing his fingers over Two’s and guiding his knight slowly to a different spot on the board. He didn’t know why, although it was a good move strategically for Two to try in the game, but primarily he just wanted an excuse to finally, finally touch him again, when he wasn’t have a panic attack and could enjoy it.

Two didn’t move his hand away from under Charles’, searching his face. He was thrown off by this assessment, by this view of himself, by this touch. He didn’t think of the things he did for other people as taking care of them, Charles realized in mild wonder- he saw it as ensuring they took care of themselves. He never put it on what he had done.

Two’s imagination strayed into kissing Charles again, and he flushed slightly. Charles had never been close enough to really see it before, but it made the green of his eyes so much brighter. “I never wanted to be a knight,” Two said, belatedly.

“And I never wanted to read minds,” Charles noted, his eyes dropping to Two’s mouth, his fingers still not raising from where they were twined with Two’s fingers. “You don’t always get to choose who you are.”

Two’s lips quirked into a smile, and after an endless moment of near-painful deliberation about how _bad_ of an idea this was, Charles saw the decision solidify. “Tell me if you don’t like it,” he said, and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Charles’ as he buried a hand in Charles’ hair. The world dissolved into sparks of fire and electricity and Charles caught his shoulders, pulling him closer. He was dimly aware that he was knocking over the chessboard, that he in fact would have won the game, but that was a vague fact, of literal no importance.

“Erik,” he breathed against his lips, crumpling his shirt in his hands, the name falling from him on a rush of air. The name came like a blessing, a rush of thought and memory and identity at the surface of the other boy’s mind, and Charles couldn’t have missed it if he had tried. Erik, his name was Erik and it was the _most beautiful_ name Charles had ever vocalized, Erik with a ‘k.’ Not Two, but Erik, the name of a knight, the name of a metallokinetic, the name of the boy under his hands.

He hadn’t given it to Charles, so they couldn’t punish him for Charles knowing it. Charles decided in that moment that he wouldn’t give him his own name, wouldn’t risk it, but he knew Erik’s name now, could feel it carving itself into his lungs and his heart and his bones as Two-no, _Erik_ \- let out a happy, harsh breath at the sound of his name.

His name was Erik, and Charles would never be able to forget it so long as he lived. Erik, whose mind was more intense, more bright, more complex, more compelling than anyone he had ever seen. Erik, who tasted like coffee and hazelnuts and warmth and _Erik_ , who grabbed Charles’ body like it was a lifeline at the vocalization of his name.

 _Erik that’s my name no one has called me Erik in so_ long, _god you’re so beautiful-_ his thoughts were chaotic, but a kind of warm chaos that wasn’t in the slightest bit off putting, but instead intoxicating. He lifted Charles over the abandoned chessboard, pulling him into his lap so they were flush against each other as he kissed down Charles’ jawline and nipped at his neck, murmuring something in what sounded like German. Charles lost the small thread of concentration he had managed to maintain, losing the possibility of translating the words from Erik’s thoughts, and made a low noise, feeling his head tilt back. Holy _fuck_ no wonder all his classmates at uni could think about was their last hookup or their next one or that body in the bar because _Jesus Christ_.

And he was aware that he was probably projecting, his thoughts and feelings probably spilling over into Erik’s mind as chaotically as his were with Charles’, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus on shields and boundaries right now, too distracted with the fact that if he angled his head just to the right, he could catch Erik’s lips and bite the lower one.

Erik genuinely _growled_ when he did so and pushed him down to the thick rug, kissing him hard, his hand pulling Charles’ shirt untucked and his fingers skimming along his ribs.

Then he stopped, his mind clearing slightly, and pulled back a little as dismay and fear flickered through him. “I don’t want Shaw to hurt you,” he said, breathing hard as he looked down at Charles, propping himself up on one elbow. _If he sees we’re together…_

“Yeah, he’s aggressively and unhealthily possessive of you.” The words weren’t as important as they once may have been, Charles’ eyes too busy tracking the line of his throat as he leaned up, kissing it slowly. He could feel him swallow under his lips and grinned against his skin. “Your point? He’s going to torture us either way.”

Erik grumbled unhappily, but wound the fingers of his free hand through Charles’ hair, leaning down and kissing him again as he let his weight rest down on him more. Charles could tell from his thoughts that he wasn’t happy about the idea of what might happen if they found out that they were doing this… but those thoughts were quickly drowned by sensation as he got caught up in kissing Charles and mapping his ribs, chest and stomach with his fingers.

Charles had never felt anything so good, so intense, so intimate. The world burned hotter around them, but Charles’ mind flickered back to that dismay and fear, the core of which had been so strong. Erik didn’t want to do this, not right now, not right here, he was just a nineteen year-old boy who was getting caught up in the sensation and intensity of the make-out and if they continued and something happened, Erik could regret that--

And so Charles pulled back, dropping back to lay on the floor. “Fuck,” he breathed, shutting his eyes. “Okay. Okay, stop.” He flattened his hand over Erik’s, opening his eyes and searching those pine-green ones as Erik froze immediately. “No, it was absolutely wonderful, don’t look like that,” Charles said quickly, leaning back up and pressing a quick, chaste kiss to Erik’s lips. “It was fantastic, in fact, but… We’ll wait for a bit. I don’t want you to regret anything, Erik. Decide if you want to risk this.” Charles kissed the corner of his mouth in light apology. “And then we’ll pick it up later if you do want to.”

Erik searched Charles’ face, scenarios running through his mind, then closed his eyes, letting his head drop down to rest against that of Charles. “You might be too important to risk,” he whispered, curling his hand around Charles’ hip. “But I’m not… I want this. Read me, don’t think for a second I don’t.” He opened his eyes, looking down at him and resting a hand on his face. He gave Charles a small smile. 

“We will kill Shaw, and then we’ll pick it back up,” he said after a moment, his thoughts full of regret and helpless anger and affection for Charles. “Dammit. I really _am_ going to kill him now,” he tried to tease, attempting to lighten the mood, and Charles laughed, relaxing back into the floor with a grin.

“I don’t think I believe in killing,” he said reflectively, lightly, but it was far, far too close, skirting the edge of a body hitting the ground with that horrible hollow sound, so he added as Erik rolled over slightly to sit beside him, “It was quite a marvelous first kiss, though.”

“You’ve never…?” Erik looked down at him in surprise, his thoughts ringing with musings about how attractive he found Charles and how unlikely this was, and Charles let out a laugh.

“I was a gangly and very unattractive youth,” he informed him, as if he were older than seventeen now, “And I was a fifteen year-old graduating high school. My peers didn’t exactly find that normal or attractive. And now I’m at Oxford, which is so unbelievably lovely, but the eighteen year-olds and up there hardly want to date a minor who falls asleep because he just can’t stop reading that journal article about genetic theory.” Charles grinned at Erik as the older boy snorted in disdain, but fondness rang through him regardless. He _liked_ that Charles was academic, liked their conversations and listening to him wax poetic about everything under the sun. “And I’ve been far too busy, honestly, to care about any of that. There were attractive lads and ladies here and there, but they were hardly interested and their minds were all so… mundane, besides. Not like yours.” He reached over, running a hand through Erik’s hair lightly and fixing it slightly so it looked less disheveled.

Erik smiled at him. “It’s because you went to school in Britain,” he said wisely. “If you’d gone to Heidelberg, you’d have people like me all over. Germans are just more interesting.”

Charles let out a shout of laughter, grinning up at the ceiling. “Is that it? Such a shame my trip to Germany was cancelled due to kidnapping, then. Imagine all the… stimulation I could be having. Mental, of course, strictly mental.”

Erik laughed and rolled over to lay on his stomach, smiling down at Charles. “Well lucky for me you didn’t,” he said cheerfully, then reached out and tucked hair behind Charles’ ear. “I’m sorry he found you and you’re stuck here with me,” he said quietly, sobering slightly. “But I’m glad to have met you anyway. Even under these unfortunate circumstances.”

“I’ve been in worse places,” Charles volunteered, catching Erik’s fingers and rubbing his thumb over them slowly. “I mean it, you know. You have the most beautiful mind I’ve ever seen. It’s like…” he searched for a comparison that might resonate with Erik, then, “Liquid mercury. Just… malleable and bright and strong and a little poisonous and so, so, so desperately beautiful. Like you could just sink into it.”

Erik flushed a little again, ears burning, but smiled and leaned down, kissing Charles’ eyebrow. He was pleased and a little embarrassed, but mostly just pleased and happy. “Well, I should keep you away from German boys,” he said, then grinned a little. “And Mercury. That _is_ poisonous and you’d get distracted playing with it.” He pulled the chessboard toward them, gathering up the pieces with his free hand and leaving the fingers of his other hand twined with Charles’. “Do you want to play again? I was winning, you were just cheating.”

“You wish,” Charles scoffed, helping to set the board up again. But he knew with certainty in this moment, as he had from the first moment he had seen Erik’s wary eyes and brilliant mind carefully shielded, that he was falling in love with him. He had never had a chance, and every day, like a pool of liquid mercury, he just sank deeper into it.

It wasn’t such a bad way to go if it was what killed him, Charles reflected, making the first move on the board.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh sweet Lord, thank all that is good that Charles finally knows Erik's name. It was surprisingly exhausting writing 'Two' all the time.


	4. Flying Lessons- Erik: 2007

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shaw decides to help Erik learn how to fly, Erik and Charles re-evaluate their friendship, and _The Little Prince_ gives Erik some food for thought.

“Two,” Shaw greeted Erik when he headed out of his room for breakfast the next morning. He had been waiting for him in the hall, and Erik felt a flicker of unease that _he_ was doing the summoning rather than having Emma retrieve him like usual. “Come on, we’re going to have a session.” 

Shaw turned, starting down the hallway, and Erik followed slowly, hoping to god that Twelve (it was so much more annoying now, both after touching him and after Twelve knew _Erik’s_ name, that Erik didn’t know Twelve’s real name) wouldn’t see Shaw taking him away. Maybe he’d just think that Erik was sleeping in or something, though he was sure to do something annoyingly sweet like try to bring him breakfast in bed or something like that, just to make sure Erik got food. The thought sent a soft, warm pang through Erik’s chest, and he buried it immediately, suffocating it in layers of cold and nonchalance.

He couldn’t risk being soft in any way in front of Shaw. It would only invite trouble.

Shaw led Erik up the stairs, which was in a distinctly different direction than their usual room for the sessions, and this too made Erik uneasy. “Twelve said that the two of you are becoming friends,” he commented lightly as the two scaled flight after flight. “I’m always surprised that you don’t hold yourself back more from the new kids.”

Erik tried not to panic. It could be nothing, nothing at all. “He’s fine.” He shrugged a little, going for casual indifference. “The others don’t like reading, he does. So we read.”

“Indeed.” Shaw nodded thoughtfully, his eyes studying Erik too intensely, then, “You remember once that we theorized that you might be able to fly, given metal on your body and proper manipulation of magnetic fields?” They had arrived at the top floor now, and Shaw led him out of the stairwell.

 _Schiesse_. “Yes, sir,” Erik agreed, trying not to follow the logical train of thought that this conversation might lead. He wasn’t particularly fond of heights and didn’t particularly want to be thrown off a building or whatever this was leading to. “I do remember that conversation.”

“Good. Of course, _you’re_ far too valuable to risk splatting on the ground, so…” He opened the door to the room on our left, where Twelve was watching in open bemusement as Emma fastened something around his wrist. It looked like a metal bracelet, and as Twelve turned his wrist to examine it, Erik realized with a lurching sensation that it was made of a chain of paperclips. Everything clicked into place.

“I have no idea what-” Twelve broke off, turning his head and meeting Erik’s eyes. The momentary warmth there was quickly shuttered, and his attention flicked to Shaw with open dislike. 

Erik felt physically ill. He had told Twelve once that he rarely got nauseous during or after sessions but he was now, his nerves a sickening and wriggling hot ball in the pit of his stomach as he realized what exactly was going to happen. This was punishment. Shaw had found out that they’d kissed, and he was creepily possessive of Erik, so naturally the one who was hurt would be Twelve.

“Sir,” Erik said quickly, trying to be logical and outwardly respectful through the panic, knowing he could often talk Shaw out of things as long as he rode that delicate line. “Sir, no. First, we need to try other things before we try me catching that much weight under that much stress, second, those are _paper clips_ , Twelve’s weight will bend them the second I pull, and then it’ll just be a free fall. Sir, it’s a terrible idea, with all due respect. It won’t work.”

Erik buried everything he was thinking and feeling, well aware Emma would be listening. He wasn’t giving them more ammunition. This was a punishment, Erik was certain of that. It was rare that Shaw pitted one mutant against another in the school. _Somehow_ , he had found out about the kiss. Somehow he knew, somehow he knew and he was determined to punish them both for it. He tried not to aim mental daggers at the blonde in the room, but he knew it had to have been her who had told Shaw. And if she told Shaw that Erik was being disrespectful, Shaw would hurt him- and Twelve- worse.

“Sir,” Erik tried again, “I think it would work much better if I was manipulating it myself, on myself, than another person. The pressure involved, the movement, it’s not something I’ve practiced with. It seems unwise to do so now, under these circumstances.”

 _Please please please believe me_. Erik’s heart pounded a tattoo in his chest, making the hot nausea worse, and he thought he might actually vomit for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he _could_ do it, but if he failed...

Shaw tilted his head back thoughtfully, at least pretending to consider Erik’s words, then nodded and pulled out a pair of heavy-duty handcuffs from his pocket. The metal hummed to Erik, who tried to focus instead on the specific alloy of the metal to calm himself down. 

Once Shaw had blindfolded him and had him memorize types of different metals without being able to look, with only the trust of the taste and vibration that his power afforded him. It had been a less painful session and one that was fairly benign, but it had lasted for nearly twenty-four hours. As such, Erik was able to identify these handcuffs as an alloy of tungsten with what oddly felt like a dash of platinum tossed in. Erik suspected strongly that the platinum was mere decoration, that Shaw couldn’t resist opulence even in his torture devices. 

Bastard. Erik ground his teeth, trying to familiarize himself with the cuffs, seeing the idea behind it and what Shaw intended.

Shaw broke the chain between the cuffs apart with a sharp twist of his hands, as if it was a thin rope as opposed to one of the strongest metals in the world, then tossed each individual cuff to Emma, who caught them deftly. “This will work better, then,” he said brightly.

If Shaw had known that the paperclips weren’t going to work, why put them on Twelve at all? He had already been prepared for the alternative. Had he just wanted to see Erik’s reaction, to see if Erik attempted to protect Twelve? Was he just digging this hole deeper by asking him to stop, by showing he cared even a little?

Erik breathed in for three counts, then out for three counts, steadying himself. It was okay. It was okay. There were pieces of the roof outside, fencing, those were metal. Erik could use it to catch Twelve as he fell or something, could slow the fall if he failed to pull him up. He could do something with the resources given to him. He wasn’t going to lose this, not in this way. Not with his failure and Twelve’s terror before he died, knowing that Erik had failed him. When they opened the window or whatever to push Twelve off, he could grab the metal then.

“I’m sorry, what is the purpose of this endeavor?” Twelve allowed Emma to clip the cuffs around slender, delicate wrists, looking between the members of their little group with a sharp frown. He knew, had to have caught it in Erik’s thoughts, but asked the question anyway, allowed Shaw to play the puppetmaster that he was so pleased to play. Erik looked at him, trying not to panic further as he calculated Twelve’s weight and how likely it was that yanking hard enough on two thin metal cuffs to stop a free fall would break his wrists and damage the joints.

He was feeling nauseous again, and went back to counting breaths instead of thinking about it.

“Two is going to learn how to fly. It’s a worthwhile endeavor, don’t you think?” Shaw beamed at him and Twelve’s brow creased very slightly, but his shoulders relaxed almost immediately.

“I suppose,” he allowed, shrugging. He glanced at Erik and smiled, looking so at ease that it made Erik’s stomach drop out entirely. Daft, brilliant, brave idiot, he wasn’t even worried or afraid of his own impending death. That was the goal, had to be the goal, because Erik was sickeningly sure that he wasn’t _supposed_ to succeed, that Shaw _wanted_ him to fail. “You’ll be able to do it,” Twelve told Erik confidently, blue eyes calm and filled with faith Erik had done nothing to earn. The most Twelve had ever even seen him lift was silverware to set the table, or the bed so that Twelve could get something from beneath it, nothing of this finesse, nothing of this importance or magnitude. This was his _life_ , this could kill him so easily. And he wasn’t even concerned.

 _This is going to be fine_ , Twelve whispered into Erik’s mind softly, assuredly. _You’re strong enough to do this._

 _What if I’m not?_ Erik pressed his shaking hands to his legs. He had on occasion been the victim of an attack by someone he knew here, but he had never had to attack someone else, had never had someone he cared about in the balance.

That wasn’t true. He had. And he had failed to save his mother. The last person who had depended on his power to save them, he had failed, and he could still remember the look on his mother’s face as he desperately tried to stop the bullets. Her and the nameless girl with the knives, he’d failed them both. Their deaths had gutted him, and Twelves death would finish the job.

 _You will be strong enough._ Twelves was so certain, with so much affection in his tone that didn’t show on his calm face. Erik wanted to shake sense into him, trying to keep his panic at bay. _You can do this, Erik. I trust you._

“I thought about using a stranger, but I thought that someone you’re friendly with would give you a little extra motivation to succeed.” Shaw clapped Erik’s shoulder, squeezing just a bit too tightly for the paternal cheer in his voice. “You know how you’ve always reacted well to… _personal_ motivation.”

Erik’s stomach lurched and he felt his hands start to shake again, his mother’s bloody form flashing through his mind. This was punishment. This wasn’t a test, it was punishment. 

Erik felt like he was going to throw up. He couldn’t move- the trust Twelve had was almost painful, and although he would try as hard as he could, would do whatever he could to save him, he knew that, when he failed, it would destroy him. He had killed or let strangers die, his mother had died because he couldn’t stop it, and each death weighed on him now, like a boulder around his neck. He wasn’t made to save people. “Sir, he is a valuable asset. Why risk him?” Erik was proud that his voice was at least still steady.

“The alternative is risking you,” Shaw said simply, crossing the room and opening the elevator doors there with the push of a button. The empty shaft yawned open beyond, and Twelve crossed to it slowly, peering down. Erik reached his senses down the shaft, horrified. He had counted on the fencing, all the metal outside to be safety nets. But there was no metal down in the shaft, only dust where it used to be and maybe one or two very small broken pieces that had been left behind.

“I really preferred the thought of being pushed off a building, frankly,” Twelve noted lightly, clearly aiming for humor and just as clearly for Erik’s benefit. “More sunshine that way, you know?”

“Maybe next time,” Shaw agreed, then shoved him down the shaft with a sharp push between Twelve’s shoulders.

Erik could feel the small pieces of metal in the room suddenly, every single item and vibration jumping into sharp relief. And as he launched himself forward, reaching out too late for Twelve and the metal cuffs he wore, he prayed to every deity he could think of that the metal would hold his weight, that he could do it, that he wouldn’t amputate Twelve’s hands by putting that much pressure on them and then lose him anyway.

 _You can do this, it’s fine, it’s fine, you can do this, I trust you, you can do this, Erik-_ Twelve was gasping the words against Erik’s mind as he fell, panicked but not altogether terrified as he _should_ have been because his trust was so absolute--

And Erik pulled up as hard as he could, gripping the doorframe of the shaft as he stared into the darkness below. Twelve’s words broke off in Erik’s mind and, for a moment, there was utter stillness and bottomless fear as Erik sincerely contemplated jumping down the shaft after him if he’d failed again. Then, “I’m fine!” Twelve called hoarsely. _Holy shit, I’m really close to the bottom, though. Can you pull me up?_

Erik rested his head against the frame, leaning heavily against it because he wasn’t fully and completely sure that he wouldn’t fall down if he didn’t have support. Everything felt gelatinous and weak with relief, but Twelve was alive. He’d managed to stop the fall. _Are you actually fine?_ Erik pulled up slowly, careful not to yank too much and hurt him. He had probably hurt him badly just in the actual stopping of the fall. _There’s no way that didn’t hurt you._

 _I’m okay. My wrists hurt. Think my arm might be dislocated, but considering the alternatives…_ There was a dry kind of humor in his tone. _It really is fascinating, Erik. If you put cuffs on yourself, and on your ankles… I think you really, truly, could fly. It really is absolutely incredible to think of all the possibilities._

 _Stop talking, you daft sod. I’m so glad you’re alive._ Erik let out a helpless laugh, shaking his head quickly. But he didn’t want Twelve to stop. He never wanted him to stop talking.

Shaw was looking all too pleased with himself, conferring quietly with Emma at the back of the room. Twelve came slowly into view, his hands above his head and the cuffs pulling tightly upward. He offered Erik a brilliant smile and a pulse of adrenaline into his mind and Erik grabbed him quickly, using the excuse to hold him for a split second before he carefully put him down on the ground and checked him over fast.

“You’ve got a dislocated shoulder?” Erik examined him, aiming for as calm a tone as he possibly could. He was all too aware that they had observers. “Which one?” _I am so sorry._

“Left.” He winced slightly as Erik touched it, but it didn’t dim his smile. _Sorry for what? Keeping me from becoming a smear on the bottom of an elevator shaft? You kept me from_ dying, _Erik, that’s nothing to apologize for._ “If you know how to pop it back into place, feel free.”

“Hold still.” Erik grabbed his upper arm, bracing his elbow. “When I say when, pull back hard. It’s not going to be enjoyable, but I can fix it.” _I’m sorry that they did this to you at all._ “When,” Erik said, and when he yanked back, Erik slammed his arm back up into the socket with the hand beneath the elbow. Twelve clenched his jaw, hand locking tightly around Erik’s arm, and then he relaxed slowly, his fingers loosening on Erik’s sleeve.

“Thanks,” he said, offering a smile, and Erik was intensely aware of Shaw, who had fallen silent with Emma. Twelve must have realized this as well, for he released him and stood, taking a step back, almost too close to the edge of the elevator again. Erik watched his feet, ready to leap forward if he wasn’t paying attention. “Do you want anything else?” Twelve looked at Shaw with open animosity and challenge.

“No, that’s enough for now.” Shaw sized him up silently, tilting his head. “Quite enough to be getting on with, I think. Tell Ten to come up and see us when you get back?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Twelve said shortly, and Erik internally groaned. “You’re standing in front of the exit, move and I’ll leave.”

“Sir.” Erik inclined his head. “We’re going.” He forced Twelve forward, out of the room. “Don’t instigate,” he said in his ear once the door had shut behind them and they were safely down one flight.

“He’s a kidnapper and a murderer, he gets no respect from me,” Twelve replied sharply, making no effort to lower his voice. Erik immediately redirected his efforts and pulled Twelve out of the stairwell, onto the third floor where their voices were less likely to echo up to Shaw. If Emma really wanted to, she could still find out what was going on, but that wasn’t Erik’s biggest worry right now, because Twelve was still talking, still raging. “My respect is reserved for those who _deserve_ it, people who are kind and good. Sebastian Shaw will never be a part of that rank. He’s a sadist, a bully, and he thinks that he is creating some better good via torture and abduction of children.”

“That’s not the point. Right now, he can kill us all whenever he wants to.” Erik shook his head, feeling frustration and all the pent-up stress of the last few minutes rising viciously to the surface, his temper rising with it. “Deferring to him isn’t cowardice, it’s strategy, it’s why I’m alive and they aren’t and if you keep being so damn _noble_ and _defiant_ , you’re going to get yourself killed just like they did!”

“I will not be scared of a man ever again,” Twelve snapped back, his eyes alight with anger and defiance and that infuriating stubbornness, and Erik ground his teeth together.

“Can you shield us from Emma for a minute?” he asked sharply, and Twelve’s eyebrows raised.

“I- well, yes, but-” He didn’t get to finish, Erik’s mouth on his as he pressed him back into the wall none too gently. Twelve made a noise of surprise and pleasure, one hand curling tightly into Erik’s shirt and the other in his hair, pulling him down closer to him. Erik knew his own shields were probably shot at the moment, too full of anger, frustration, helplessness, the fear of the last few minutes, the _wanting_ of this moment because Twelve’s eyes flashed so beautifully when he was angry, and too full of the overpowering relief that Twelve _could_ be angry still. He hadn’t fallen to his death, he wasn’t the body that was going to be carried out of the manor next, and he was kissing Erik back as fervently as Erik was kissing him.

Twelve hadn’t been wrong. Shaw was going to torture them either way. He might even kill them either way. Twelve could have died so easily in that elevator shaft, broken and bleeding at the bottom, and Shaw hadn’t hesitated for a moment. Erik’s mind was throbbing with the hate for Shaw, with the intensity of his feelings for Twelve, with the decision to just fuck it and be irresponsible because the chances weren’t in their favor to survive anyway, so they might as well steal this moment while they could.

 _It’s okay_ , Twelve breathed in his mind, kissing a line down Erik’s neck, no doubt catching all of this rush of emotion and accepting it. _I’m here, Erik. I’ll keep you safe, I’ll keep us safe. I’m not going anywhere._

Erik let out a sharp breath, leaning into Twelve and letting a sigh leave him as Twelve’s lips found a small scar toward the base of the throat, where it was still sensitive. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had wanted to keep him safe. _I know you’re here,_ Erik whispered to him now, lowering his head to kiss Twelve’s ear. _And I am so fucking glad. How badly do your wrists really hurt? Don’t lie to me._

 _I won’t ever lie to you_. He made a low noise, fingers loosing slightly on Erik’s arms. _They don’t… they don’t feel good, but it’s not broken. See?_ His hand slipped under Erik’s shirt, tracing his muscles up his back and using his other hand to curl around the back of his neck.

Erik grumbled, not entirely convinced and remembering seeing cuts and skin scraped raw at least, but kissed Twelve back anyway. He’d check him more thoroughly afterward, but right now he just wanted to memorize the way it felt to hold Twelve against him, kissing him and enjoying the way Twelve’s hand felt on his skin. Right now, they needed to enjoy this small moment because they wouldn’t probably have very many like this.

 _We can have as many as we take,_ Twelve disagreed with Erik’s thoughts, pulling him closer, but breaking the kiss to look up at him. _Do you want this, Erik? I can shield us both while we’re together like this. I can try to bury the memories under your shields when Emma comes around. I can hide us as best we physically can, but it’s still a risk. I want you to make your choice. I don’t want you to ever regret it, no matter what way it all goes down._

Erik searched Twelve’s face, running his thumb along the younger boy's jaw, then smiled a little. They were going to kill everyone anyway. Shaw was already attempting to. And honestly, he’d been thinking all night about kissing Twelve and how he would regret _not_ being with him more than he would ever regret _being_ with him. Erik gave a laugh, leaning down to kiss the beautiful telepath who had probably heard all of his dithering. Yes, he agreed, feeling contentment and the rightness of the choice as their lips moved together. _I don’t think I will ever regret being with you, Twelve. If you can hide us… yes._

 _As best as I possibly can_ , Twelve agreed, the kiss slowing and sweetening. _I can’t affect Shaw’s mind, but I can try to keep us in the background of Emma’s, hide our memories so it’s harder for them to find._ He pulled back, resting his forehead against Erik’s, and stroked his cheeks slowly. _I want you while I can have you._

Erik laughed and hugged Twelve against him, feeling strangely comforted by the idea. _Then it’s settled. Let’s go find Ten, she’s got some great bruise cream she won off Shaw once_. He’d never asked how she had gotten it, just like he had never been asked why he had the watch. “And I’ll take the cuffs off downstairs,” he continued aloud, kissing Twelve again warmly before reluctantly pulling away to lift the other boy’s wrist and critically examine the makeshift bracelets he was wearing, and the torn skin beneath. “I think I can break these, easy.”

“What? No!” Twelve almost yelped it, pulling his hand back quickly. “I don’t want you to break them.”

Erik stared at him. “Twelve, they’re _manacles_. What on earth will you even do with them?”

“I don’t know.” He curled a hand around one of them, pressing it to his abdomen protectively. “I just- it’s a good memory. I like them.” He glanced down at the one that was still visible. “You saved me with them.”

Something in the region of Erik’s heart lurched and almost hurt, and he blinked at the younger boy, then nodded, lifting his hand and kissing the marks beneath the metal, wishing for the first time that he could heal instead of move metal. “Okay,” Erik said gently. He understood the thought. “If that’s what you want, that’s okay. I won’t break them.”

Twelve relaxed and smiled up at him. “Maybe someday I’ll have them melted down and made into something less kinky,” he suggested mildly, grinning a little as he fiddled with the cuff on his left wrist. “After all, the general public will assume I’m a runaway-felon or a sex fiend if I go wandering around with broken handcuffs on.” He laughed brightly at the idea. “They can melt them down, right? That’s a thing with jewelers?”

Erik laughed and nodded. “Yeah, it’s a thing,” he agreed, considering what he could do with them. He could reshape them… but he’d have to practice. Shaw had only ever had him make weapons, not _jewelry_. “Let’s go take care of those bruises before they get worse,” he instructed, making shooing motions at Twelve and carefully burying those thoughts. It could be a nice surprise, a present.

“All right, all right,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. He headed for the door, then paused, turning, and pressed his lips to Erik’s quickly before slipping out into the hall and darting down the stairs.

* * *

Erik pressed an ice pack from the kitchen to his head as he walked down the hall, scowling at nothing and everything. As sessions went, it had been a fairly benign one. No one had bled, no one had died, he hadn’t even been burned. Shaw had given him metal-soled shoes and had ordered him to try to fly while wearing them. He had, in fact, levitated, but there was very little sense of balance with just the metallic soles. He’d hit his head a few times and hit the ground a few more, and the result was a pounding headache that made him want to crunch all the light fixtures in on themselves, sending the lights shattering out of being. He was headed for the dayroom with the intention of showing Twelve (who never made any attempt to hide his concern or worry when Erik was taken) that he was alive, then heading to bed for a long and well-deserved nap when he heard the words.

“But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life.” Erik slowed his pace at Twelve’s voice, which drifted down the open door from the day room and down the hall to where he was walking. “‘I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain−fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the colour of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat…”

Erik held still, finding himself bemusingly enchanted. Twelve read all the time, but he rarely read out loud. Some people had beautiful voices, but when they read aloud, the voices flattened and changed. But Twelve read smoothly, his voice lilting and caressing the words as he spoke them. Erik almost ran into a wall, listening as hard as he could, and snorted to himself. _Maybe I hit my head a bit harder than I thought, Jesus. I need to get hold of myself._

“One only understands the things that one takes,” Twelve continued, his voice growing clearer as Erik moved closer. “Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me…”

Twelve’s voice softened and Erik tilted around the corner, finding that Twelve was sitting on the couch. Eleven’s head was on his knee and she seemed to be listening, eyes half-shut and drowsy. Ten was sitting across the room, ostensibly making an angry painting out of shades of red, but her strokes had slowed down and she, too, was clearly listening as he continued just a little more,

“‘What must I do, to tame you?’ Asked the little prince,” Twelve glanced down at Eleven with a warm smile as he spoke, drawing his attention very briefly from the tattered pages in his hand, “‘You must be very patient,’ replied the fox. ‘First you will sit down at a little distance from me−− like that−− in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day…’” Twelve stopped, his head raising and his blue eyes meeting Erik’s. He smiled, his eyes crinkling at Erik, and Ten looked around with a sharp frown to locate the source of the interruption as Erik felt an answering smile try to start, regardless of the others around and the way his head hurt. 

“Hey,” Ten greeted Erik, relaxing. “How was your session?”

“Fine.” He shrugged, moving to sit next to Twelve and Eleven. “The only injuries I got today were because I was overzealous.” He sent a thought compilation to Twelve with a snort, memories of himself falling over and hitting his head, bouncing off the ground, and flipping over and hitting his head on the ground instead. It hadn’t gone well, but it could have gone worse, certainly. “Could be cool, if I can do it, there might be some interesting uses for it. Keep reading, Twelve. What is the book?” Erik looked over curiously at it.

“ _The Little Prince_ ,” Twelve said, grinning a little. “Antoine de Saint-Exupery. It’s an ancient copy, I can only read about half the words. But Eleven said she’d never heard it.” He reached for Erik, moving Eleven gently and checking Erik’s head for bumps or bleeding. Erik smiled a little, allowing him to check him over and feeling that now-familiar little pinch in his chest that always accompanied Twelve and his unceasing capacity to worry for others. “He should have known you’d need cuffs or something on your wrists to use for stability control,” Twelve chastised quietly, although the focus of his admonition wasn’t present, his eyes tightening. “No, it doesn’t look too bad, you’ll be okay.” He settled back onto the couch, picking up the thin, tattered book again.

He continued reading, detailing the story of a small, strange spaceman who desperately loved the flower he had left on his planet and who was now having adventures on Earth. He described his budding friendship with the fox and the author, and then finally came to the prince’s death. Eleven watched him with something almost like focus in her eyes, and Ten was tight and tense in the corner. Erik glimpsed her wiping at her eyes here and there as Twelve finished.

Erik, for his part, listened to every word in interest. The writing was beautiful, although the ending _was_ somewhat sad, not knowing if the spaceman got home again. Erik was naturally a cynic and was inclined to believe that the little prince _had_ died, or that the un-muzzled sheep would have eaten the flower by the time he returned. But he knew just as well that Twelve, with his constant optimism and dreams of escapes and happy endings, likely believed the opposite.

Either way, the little book made him think.

Getting used to having someone in your life was strange. Allowing someone into your life, into the messy and dark parts, was terrifying. Trusting someone at all was terrifying, especially in a place like this. Twelve had done as the little spaceman had, and used the only technique that worked- being close and kind and just steady, being there whenever the people around him had needed him. Even Ten liked Twelve these days, and that was a feat. It had taken Erik the better part of four years to get there. 

The story made sense in a way he never would have anticipated, six months ago. He would have scoffed at it and focused on surviving his next session rather than waxing poetic over a children’s tale and the messages therein. But...

Of course, loving something changed it and you in some undefinable way. He was beginning to understand that, beginning to wonder if that’s what that warm and not at all unpleasant pinch in his chest was, if that’s what it was when you wanted to see the other person whenever you woke, if you thought about them no matter what you were doing or where you were, if they were your priority and the reason you got up out bed early, hoping to get a few extra minutes with them, and if that’s what it was when the sight of that person made you lighten and brighten just by their existence in your vicinity. Even as he had hit the ground for the fourth time during the session, Erik had been thinking about how much Twelve might like to fly, if Erik could get himself together and figure out how to control it properly. Twelve joked about his _flying lesson_ , and Erik was certain that he’d enjoy doing it for real, when he wasn’t falling down a damn elevator shaft.

Taming was an odd phrase, Erik considered as he leaned forward, pretending to examine the illustrations of the baobabs, but the concept behind it was rather beautiful. Had Twelve tamed him? Twelve’s eyes flicked up to his in that moment, either giving up the charade of not listening to his thoughts or just catching that last one. Twelve offered a smile, sweet and crooked, the one that made just the left dimple appear. He ducked his head again and focused on closing the book, and Ten made a grumping sort of noise.

“Dumb story,” she declared sharply, and Twelve offered her a fond smile.

“It’s okay if you think so,” he agreed. Erik hid a smile- Ten had never liked anyone knowing anything real about her, a very real survival technique in Hallow Hall. One Erik had subscribed to, until here recently, when the curly-haired, blue-eyed boy beside him had turned his life upside down. “My father read it to me when I was small. And then I read it to my sister when we adopted her. It’s bittersweet, but it’s one of my favorites.”

She grumped brusquely and Erik found Twelve watching him, fondly and with that constant, relentless curiosity that was bizarrely enjoyable. So few people _actually_ cared about other people’s lives, unless they could get something out of it. Twelve demanded nothing, he just wanted knowledge. _Did your mother have a story she read to you when you were young?_

Was it love, Erik wondered distantly as he smiled back, keeping these thoughts in the deeper part of his mind that he knew Twelve never entered. He wasn’t sure, yet, he could say it aloud. He wasn’t sure if he ever could, but was it love if you wanted someone to know everything about you, the good and the bad, so you could have someone who accepted you without question? Even silly things, like your favorite childhood book? 

_My mother read to me from Grimm’s_ , Erik told Twelve, giving a grin as he shook himself from the musings that were distracting him. _I distinctly remember booing when they killed the wolf in Red Riding Hood_. Twelve laughed brightly at that and Erik watched him, warmth spreading through his chest, proud to have brought him pleasure. _I liked all of the dark ones, the ones where the bad guys won, because I hated all those goody-goody princesses and princes. My mother despaired of me._

“Mm. Sometimes the so-called ‘villains’ are just complex.” Twelve caught Erik’s wrist, squeezing it tightly, then glanced toward the hallway with dark humor. “Other times they’re just evil.” He grinned and Ten chuckled from her place in the corner.

“You’re all insane,” she informed them, and Twelve laughed, settling back into the couch. He kept Erik’s hand, though, tracing the lines on his palm slowly, and Erik allowed himself to start to relax, feeling Twelve’s warmth spread from where he was pressed into Erik’s side, his headache easing very slightly.

Was it love? He wondered again, shutting his eyes and relaxing at the sensation of Twelve’s hand in his. How would he know for sure?


	5. Lemons and Lemonade: Charles- 2007

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex. They have sex, y'all. We finally earn that 'explicit' rating. They also get a date night because they deserve one, and a bit of foreshadowing if you tilt your head and squint from about fifteen chapters into the future of the next book. You can thank Clarke for the lemons!

“So,” Erik said thoughtfully, heartlessly taking Charles’ queen and tossing her to the side to lay on the pile of Erik’s pieces Charles had already claimed, “You didn’t tell me you had a sister. What’s she like?” He smiled up at Charles. “I always wanted siblings.”

“You’d be a good brother,” Charles noted, frowning at the loss of his queen. “My sister is lovely. I try not to think about her too often while I’m here, though.” He hesitated, eyes flickering across the room, then, “She’s… like us. I don’t want them looking for her or finding her.”

Erik nodded, not offended in the slightest. “I wouldn’t want my siblings here either, if I had any. I sometimes think Ten’s what my sister would be. My mother was a demon, my sister would have eaten the patriarchy for breakfast.” He laughed a little, stretching. “How does it feel to get your ass kicked in chess by a high-school dropout, by the way?”

“Okay, you only dropped out because you were _abducted from your home_ , so you don’t get to use that as an insult.” Charles scoffed at that and Erik grinned. “And the game isn’t over, thank you very much. Maybe I’ve got you where I want you.” He made a decisive move with one of his rooks. “Yeah, I figured that you see them kind of like sisters. How long have they each been here?”

“Ten’s been here for almost four years.” Erik’s expression softened. “It was just me and her, for a big stretch. Eleven’s only been here a few months, really. Not very long.”

Charles considered this. “That’s impressive. I kind of thought with her temper… I thought that she wouldn’t make it here for four years. She must sublimate some of it when she’s with Shaw.” He smiled at Erik’s next move at the chessboard, pleasure at his impending victory flickering through him. “Though showing fear just encourages men like him. Maybe the anger’s how she’s held on for so long.”

Erik nodded. “We don’t talk about our sessions. I don’t know if he’s worse with her, if the punishments are similar, the kind of data he collects from her. She doesn’t talk about it, because it doesn’t make a difference and it doesn’t help either of us. She sometimes needs healing, and sometimes she’s just upset after. I do what I can. If she wanted to talk, she would.” He shrugged a little, clearly unhappy about the situation in general, but Charles had seen them together and he knew that they were actually devoted to each other. She would do whatever she could to help Erik, and he would do whatever he could to help Ten. It was really very sweet. “I do what I can.”

“Of course you do.” Charles felt a smile cross his face, warm and fond. “Erik, if you could do one thing right now, what would it be?”

 _Kiss you_. Erik grinned at him, then shrugged, thinking about it more seriously. “If I could do any one thing… I don’t know. I guess I’d like to go back to school, actually. I wanted to go to uni, and get a degree in something. It was important to my mom. But then, I wanted to adventure around, travel, pretend to work but actually just see everything.” He shrugged again. “Never had big plans, was never passionate about any specific job or thing. Not like you, Mr. Oxford. What did you want to do? What was your degree in?” He looked up at Charles in interest, that lazer focus disarming as always. “You talk about so much stuff you’re interested in, what could you actually _major_ in that combined all of that?”

“Genetics,” Charles replied promptly. “I’m going to get a PhD and do research. I’d like to work more on the X gene. Mutation is such an understudied field. There are enough of us that we are known to exist, but no one knows how or why, and we’re such a taboo topic that there’s not much research being done on the cause of mutation. Additionally, since all mutations are so unique, it makes it hard to narrow down who is what and if familial connections play a part in what mutation you develop, etcetera, etcetera…” Charles claimed Erik’s bishop, who had been responsible for the downfall of his queen. “I’d like to be a professor in the end,” he decided absently. “I could do that while I research, and I could teach people like us more about what they are and what that means. You know?”

Erik laughed, grinning at him. “You know, I can see you as a professor. You would get fired, though, because I cannot imagine you giving students a bad grade, but you are brilliant, and patient, even with Ten. You’d be great.” He looked at the board and considered, then made a terrible decision with a rook.

“ _What_ are you even doing, are you just throwing the game?” Charles took the rook immediately, scandalized. “You would think you were a novice, making choices like that. Checkmate.”

“Dammit.” Erik sighed, flopping back to the floor. “No, I’m just stupid today. Oh well. At least you still like me.” He grinned up at Charles, then sat up, looking out the window as if something had caught his eye. “Get a blanket,” he said quickly. “I have something I’ve been meaning to show you.”

“Something to show me?” Charles echoed in surprise, standing quickly and crossing the library to grab one of the worn, threadbare blankets that was hung across the armchair there. “What? Where? Isn’t it nearly two in the morning?” He grinned at Erik, reaching out to help him stand.

“Yes.” Erik stood with his help, stroking the back of his hand with his thumb. “But understand, it has to be dark enough for you to see, and the outside lights don’t turn off until after midnight, so it’s a very thin line you have to walk.”

“I see.” Charles offered a smile, something in his chest bright and buoyant. “Lead the way, by all means.”

Erik led him out of the library, toward a back part of the building that Charles had never seen before. Up two flights of stairs sat a door with a heavy padlock on it. Erik snorted, waving a hand, and it bent out of shape, falling to the ground.

“Okay,” Erik said, turning to look at Charles. “It’s not the most incredible thing ever, but it’s kind of cool up here. There’s a _lot_ of stairs, are you up for a little hike?” He was carefully shielding, wanting to keep it a surprise.

“Yeah.” Charles laughed. “Of course, you could always just float me up.” He waved one of the cuffs at him merrily, and Erik snorted. 

“Somehow, I don’t think dislocation is the tone I want to set,” he commented dryly, which had Charles grinning and heading up the stairs after him. 

“Does Shaw know you can get up here?” he asked curiously, raising onto his tiptoes in a vain attempt to see over Erik’s shoulders.

“Well, yes.” Erik laughed, using his height to block the view. He turned, looking down at Charles. “Close your eyes,” he said. “There’s a lot of stairs, but they’re not steep. It’s not as cool if you see it coming. Shaw doesn’t care if we’re up here, really- he is against fun in general, but everything’s broken so he doesn’t see why we’d get use out of it.”

“Then why’s it locked?” Charles shut his eyes obediently, tightening his grip on Erik’s hand to maintain balance as they continued up the steps. Erik went slowly, making sure that Charles didn’t fall.

“Well, I like to think it’s because he’s optimistic that if there’s a lock on it, I won’t go through. But he’s really just stupid if he thinks that a lock makes me feel anything but more determined to go through and see what he doesn’t want the others to see.”

“You’re stubborn as a mule,” Charles informed him dryly. “You’re lucky that Shaw sees what he wants to see, rather than who you are. Well… I suppose maybe he sees your potential, which _is_ indeed impressive, but he sees the wrong direction for it.”

Erik laughed a little. “I’m glad you think I have potential for something other than destruction.”

“Everyone has potential for something other than destruction,” Charles said firmly as they reached level ground. He left his eyes shut. “They just don’t always look at what that other option might be.”

He felt a shiver of unease, thinking about alternative options. 

_“I’m not going to do that again.” Charles stared at Shaw, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “I’ll never kill anyone again. I’ll let them kill me, I don’t care.”_

_Shaw’s mouth tightened into a flat line, a mocking kind of disapproval on his face. “Oh? So ready to be a martyr, Twelve, so ready to throw away that life and that ability that you are so lucky to have been blessed with.”_

_“Lives are equal,” Charles snapped, taking a step forward. “And when you take one, you destroy everything they could ever be, everything they’ve ever experienced. You act like it's nothing, like holding a soul in your hand and snuffing it out is collateral damage but you have no idea of the magnitude of your actions. The loss of life isn’t a casual-”_

_Shaw slammed him back against the wall, his hand tight around Charles’ throat, and he squeezed tighter. Charles choked, fingers scrabbling uselessly against his gloved hand, and Shaw tsked, shaking his head. “You could be so much, Xavier,” he murmured in Charles’ ear as he issued a hoarse noise of protest. “You could shake this world to its foundations, you and Two both. You could rewrite the history and the future of civilization and mutant rights, and yet your damned empathy ties your hands.” He tipped Charles’ head back, sliding him up the wall as dark spots bloomed in front of his eyes._

_“If we could just burn that out of your brain, how much more useful you’d be,” he mused, lips brushing against the shell of Charles’ ear._

_Then he was on the ground, Shaw walking back across the room casually as Charles sucked in air, struggling to his hands and knees. “Get out. Rethink your decision to be useful. I have no purpose for layabouts here.”_

Charles pushed the memory away sharply, hand tightening on Erik’s to ground himself in the present. He brushed against Erik’s mind, so bright and ever-present, and felt the shivers of unease in his spine begin to settle again. He wasn’t with Shaw. He was with Erik. Shaw couldn’t burn out his empathy, that was a ridiculous and impossible notion.

They were going to get out soon, he assured himself, as he had for the past two months.

“Can I look yet?” he asked out loud, pulling up a smile.

“Yes.” Erik laughed and Charles opened his eyes to see what looked like an old-style observatory, a broken telescope off to the side. The entire ceiling was glass, there were old books all over the place, ivy and moss growing from where the panes above had leaked and created plantlife below.

Charles stared, mouth falling open as he crossed the room. The stars were bright above them, shimmering and beautiful out in the country as they were, more stars in the panes above him than he had ever seen in his life. The books, the ivy, the glass… It almost reminded him of his family’s estate. “Erik, it’s _beautiful_ ,” he marveled, reaching out a hand to trace across the cover of one of the dusty books. He crossed quickly and crouched to inspect the broken telescope in fascination, lifting it and peering through the broken glass. He set it back down carefully, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“It’s such a shame that Shaw owns this place,” he reflected, tilting his head back to stare up at the stars through the ceiling. “I bet it would be really quite beautiful, in someone else’s hands.”

“It would.” Erik leaned back against one of the bookshelves, smiling up at the stars, then took the blankets and spread them out on the ground, gesturing. “Come here, if you lay down and look up, it’s like you’re outside.”

Charles obeyed quickly, stretching out beside him and resting his head on Erik’s shoulder. He shifted closer, getting comfortable, and studied the heavens above, fascinated. “It does look like we’re outside,” he agreed in a murmur. “It’s beautiful, Erik, thank you. It’s a lovely gift.”

“You’re welcome.” Erik smiled at the sky, pleased with the success of his surprise, and wrapped his arms around Charles, contentment and a strange feeling of _home_ , here in this strange place, coming off him in waves. “I found it when I was a lot younger, and I come up here sometimes when I need to think. The stargazing here is better than you can see most places; there must not be anything around for miles and miles, because you can actually see everything, constellations and things.”

Charles laid there with him for a long few moments, chattering with him about the likelihood that Ten would burn the house down, that Eleven would turn into a bat for them anytime soon, that Shaw had to get hair transplants. This thought in particular struck Erik as funny, and Charles revelled in his delight as he rolled onto his side, laughing. Charles persisted on this strain for several minutes, burrowing into Erik’s side and the sound of his laughter, his head bouncing slightly with the force of Erik’s chuckles beneath him.

“It could be true,” he pointed out with a grin, propping himself up on an elbow and looking down at Erik, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “I-” He stopped, his mouth oddly dry. Suddenly, he was aware of just how dark those eyes were, just how close that mouth was. Where the atmosphere had been easy, laughing, casual, suddenly it was… different. There was heat and almost electricity in the air. He couldn’t tell if there was an actual change, or if it was simply Erik’s personality, powerful and strong and intense. He could see his want in his face, hear it ringing through his mind.

It was quiet for a long moment, then, “I should probably go,” Erik said, and Charles could read that he was aware of the way the air between them had changed, too. He reached out, touching Charles’ face and allowing his fingers to linger on his skin. His hand against Charles’ felt like fire, like Ten’s arms had in the few times he had brushed against her. “We should go to sleep,” he amended, eyes not leaving Charles’ face.

“I’ve always had trouble sleeping,” Charles murmured, searching his face slowly, catching his fingers and sliding his hand down Erik’s arm.

He smiled and leaned down, touching his lips to Charles’. It wasn’t their first kiss by any means, but it still felt as brilliant each time. Charles curled his hand into Erik’s shoulder, moving closer, and Erik hummed in approval, reaching up to rest a hand in Charles’ hair. He kissed him again, a little harder and deeper this time, and Charles let out a low moan as his lip was bitten, Erik’s tongue doing marvelous things with his. 

Erik turned his head, kissing the corner of Charles’ mouth, his jawline, his neck, pushing at the neck of his shirt with his nose to properly press a kiss at the place where Charles’ neck met his shoulders, nipping lightly with his teeth. He sat them both up, tipping Charles back slightly as he lifted him and rested the shorter boy in his lap, one arm around Charles’ back, the other hand buried in his hair and cradling the back of his head so there was no chance of him falling or really shifting much at all, just resting on Erik’s knees.

“Jesus, Erik-” Charles gasped it and Erik’s mouth made its way back to his after endless moments of exploring what skin he could with his access blocked by the sweater Charles was wearing. His mind was filled with the way Charles tasted and smelled, how soft his skin was beneath his lips, his delight at the fact Charles had freckles across his collarbone and shoulder that he could see in the moonlight, and the sounds that he, Charles, was making. But other thoughts entered as he held them closer together and slowly, slowly, he pulled him back into a proper seated position and broke the kiss, breathing hard, resting Charles back closer to his knees again so they weren’t pressed together.

“You,” Erik managed, resting his head against Charles’, “Are far too gorgeous for your own good, or mine.” He offered a small grin, a wicked grin, that made Charles’ stomach lurch in a very good way. “And we should go to bed. It’s getting late, and kissing like that isn’t a good idea, probably.” Regret, but the quiet knowledge that he was doing the right thing sang out from his mind, as clearly as if Charles was living in it himself.

“What if I don’t want to go to bed?” It almost broke from him and Erik stilled, hands having dropped to Charles’ hips. His fingers tightened there, and Charles continued, slowly stroking a hand down Erik’s arm. “What if I don’t want to stop kissing you?”

Erik took in a slow, steady breath, clearly to calm himself. “We’ve talked about this. I don’t want to risk you. I kissed you and he threw you down an elevator shaft.” His expression twisted, and he lifted Charles’ arm, kissing his wrist gently, where the half-healed marks still sat. “If he found out we did more… I have to protect you. It’s one thing to shield when we’re kissing, but this is different. It might be impossible to keep from projecting. I have to make sure-”

“You don’t know that’s why he threw me,” Charles pressed, then, I want this. He reached out, pulling him close, and Erik let Charles pull them back together, kissing Charles back slowly. _We don’t know when he will get tired of all of this and do something we can’t undo. I want you. I-I know you want me._ He wasn’t used to speaking for other people, but if he didn’t in this case, nothing would ever happen. Charles knew his rules. He knew not to share the thoughts that he gathered from others, not to tell them things that they hadn’t decided to say out loud yet. But he wanted to break that rule, needed to break that rule, because if he didn’t speak this time, nothing would ever happen because Erik would never press the issue. _Whatever he does to us, we can take._

If Emma hears… Erik searched his face, pure desire, hot and heavy, warring with his protective side. “I can’t risk you, Twelve. I can’t.”

 _I can shield._ Charles was relatively sure that he could, anyway. No one had confronted them yet about being together. Shaw hadn’t made any more obvious moves. So perhaps his aim of masking their memories and being discreet in person was working. Maybe it was simply being overlooked for a bigger punishment later on. Either way, they couldn’t just stay here and be prisoners, waiting and cowering in fear.

They were high in the building, far away from any other minds, and if Charles’ control slipped and he began projecting, the feelings and thoughts wouldn’t reach the girls, Emma, or Shaw, unless Shaw’s constantly-silent mind was somehow very close at that exact moment. It was safer. Charles maneuvered into Erik’s lap properly, moving them flush together, and with a smile that broke their kiss, realized that even through Erik’s jeans, he could feel the telltale bump of arousal. Erik did want this. He did want Charles, did want to be with him. _I want this, Erik. I know you do too. If he does snap and kill us, it’ll be for one of a hundred reasons. I don’t want to not have this. With you._

Erik’s self-restraint battled with his need for a moment longer, and Charles slipped his hand down, brushing his fingers lightly over Erik’s jean-covered erection. Erik’s breath released almost in a quick breath and Charles’ back was hitting the blankets that they had laid on the floor for stargazing.

 _Tell me if anything upsets you if you need me to stop tell me to stop-_ Erik’s thoughts were hardly coherent in their intensity, but instead a string of reassurance and questions as he rucked up Charles’ shirt, kissing his exposed skin. Charles felt himself tense, remembering, suddenly, the scars that told terrible stories on his skin, but Erik more or less ignored them, only a flicker of quiet anger registering in the back of his mind really any indication he had actually seen them.

“Twelve.” Erik pushed his hips against Charles’ and he arched up against him, burying his fingers in Erik’s jacket as he bit Charles’ ear. The friction between them felt so good, made it so damn hard to focus. _Let me see you. I want to know what feels good, let me see?_ It took Charles another moment or two to realize that he wanted that bizarre projecting that Charles had done by accident the first time they had done anything like this. His fingers pulling at Charles’ shirt, leaving streaks of fire behind, made it difficult to focus or analyze what it was that he was asking right away. Charles slid his hands beneath Erik’s shirt, fingers sliding below his waistband, and Erik’s thoughts became slightly more incoherent. _I don’t want to hurt you, never want to hurt you please if its okay just let me feel what feels good for you-_

Charles hesitated, then pulled back his own shields slightly, reaching out to Erik’s mind and holding onto it more tightly. Erik took in a sharp breath, looking down at Charles as he allowed the hunger, the heat, the want flow across the bridge. Erik rocked his hips against Charles experimentally and that wonderful friction filled them both, edgy and sharp. He grinned again, that wicked grin that tied Charles up in knots, and pulled Charles’ shirt off entirely. Erik lowered his head to lick one of Charles’ nipples, supporting himself on his elbows and burying a hand in Charles’ hair, keeping him in place as Charles gasped. He hadn’t thought, really, that men’s nipples would be so sensitive, but apparently he had been very wrong.

 _You are so goddamn beautiful_ , Erik thought fervently, moving back up to kiss Charles, rocking their hips together again. It was almost in the right place to give a little release, almost just right, and Erik laughed against Charles’ skin, shaking his head.

 _He is wearing far too many clothes_ , Charles decided somewhat impatiently, pulling at his jacket and t-shirt. There was a moment, as the t-shirt came off, where Charles caught a sharp flash of worry from Erik, but he was beautiful in the moonlight, the pain he’d had etched into his skin shimmering. He was worried that Charles would find the scarring disturbing or upsetting, was ready to stop, but with their linked minds open to each other the way they were, he saw how much Charles didn’t care, how beautiful he thought he was, and Erik laughed a little self-consciously, ducking his head to kiss him again in relief.

Charles mapped Erik’s back, chest and stomach with his hands as Erik did the same to his-- so many scars, so many strange whorls and ridges of skin that Charles had never seen. Some were merely thin lines, others were clearly from large wounds that had closed awkwardly. But all of them reminded Charles that Erik had gone through something terrible and come back out of it alive, so in a strange way, it was… comforting. He had been through so much and yet here he was, kissing along the waistband of Charles’ trousers on a rooftop sunroom in the moonlight, alive and healthy and so happy to finally be touching Charles, he wanted to explode out of his skin.

After all, if Erik didn’t mind Charles’ scars, why should Charles mind his?

Erik leaned back up slightly, looking down at Charles. His hair was falling into those large, dark eyes and he was trembling very slightly as he kept himself still. “If you don’t want to, you can say so,” he whispered. “Any time, for any reason. Okay? I don’t care. I won’t be angry. I need you to feel safe.” He pressed a kiss to Charles’ nose, a surprisingly sweet gesture compared to the need and raw heat surging through him that Charles suspected that he’d have felt even without being a telepath. “I need you safe and happy, Twelve,” he repeated quietly, and Charles felt the smallest flicker of irritation that he still wasn’t allowed to know Charles’ name. Soon, he promised himself. As soon as he found the flaw in Emma’s shields, he would get them out. He would tell Erik his name. “So just… just say anything, at all, and I’ll stop. You don’t even have to say it, just think it.” That was another reason he’d wanted to be connected like this, Charles realized; it ensured that Erik knew if at any point, something upset Charles.

And Charles knew that, regardless of his need and how much Erik wanted him right now, if Charles said no, Erik would get up, help Charles get dressed, and carry the blankets downstairs. He’d leave him to sleep for the night and go to his own room without mentioning what had almost happened. The boy staring down at Charles, far older beyond his years, waiting for consent, for Charles’ agreement, was not someone to guilt anyone into something.

A knight, always taking care of those around him.

What had Charles done to deserve such loyalty? Such faith? What had anyone done to create such a good, loyal being? One so vicious, so protective, so dedicated? What could he, Charles, do to earn him, to keep him, to protect him in return? If Erik was the knight, flexible and dedicated and loyal, then Charles was the king-- useless and slow in comparison.

Charles leaned up, pressing his forehead to Erik’s briefly. “I want this, Erik. I will tell you if that changes, but it’s not going to.”

Erik nodded and lowered his head, kissing Charles slowly. For a few moments it was simply warm and sweet, gentle and soft and affectionate. Charles felt the smallest fragment of hesitation from Erik, who had been trapped in the manor since he was thirteen, who knew very little about how to do this all in the exact and proper way. Charles blinked, pulling back for the smallest instant, and sent flickers of images and techniques flirting across the bond, quick bursts of knowledge along with the assurance that it could, in no way, be a disappointment to Charles. 

Delight flickered through Erik’s mind, and then the kiss changed again, his fingers curling around Charles’ ribs, his hips pressing into Charles’, and the heat jumped back between them. Erik’s fingers dipped below Charles’ waistband, unbuttoning his trousers with one hand as he cupped his face with the other, pushing the trousers down a little, past his hips. Erik slid his fingers beneath the waistband of Charles’ briefs and Charles arched up into his hand with a whimper as Erik’s fingers closed around him for the first time.

Erik took his time, stroking Charles up and down as Charles buried his nails in Erik’s back, breath growing ragged as his hips moved in time to the movement of his lover’s hands. Erik’s mouth sucked at Charles’ nipples, licked at his ribs, bit at his collarbone, claimed his mouth. It was constant sensation and Charles would have been embarrassed by the sounds he was making, except he could hear how good it made Erik feel, to elicit such a reaction.

Charles couldn’t take it anymore, had to touch him. He pushed Erik back and over as Erik chuckled, seeing the plan in Charles’ head clear as day with the connection wide open as it was. Charles barely gave Erik time to really register, though, as he unbuttoned his jeans with clumsy fingers and pushed them down- Erik lifted his hips accommodatingly- and Charles shoved Erik’s boxers down to free his erection.

Charles hadn’t ever done this before, hadn’t actually done any of this before, but he’d seen it in plenty of heads, had heard it in plenty of heads, had actually been in the next room during oral sex where the man was projecting so loudly what exactly his girlfriend was doing that he could have written a twenty-page paper on it. Charles knew the theory, of course, but he’d never tried it himself. As he’d told Erik, he’d been busy with academia and had no potential dating partners, anyway. Nonetheless, the connection with Erik gave him confidence and Charles knew that if it wasn’t quite right, he could guide himself by Erik’s reactions.

Charles lowered his head, taking Erik in his mouth, and resisted the urge to smile as Erik sucked in breath, shuddering. He was bigger than Charles had expected, and although he was fairly certain he could take most if not all of Erik in his mouth, he wasn’t interested in experimenting with his gag reflex at the moment, and so just stuck to what felt comfortable and right, this first time.

Erik didn’t seem to mind that Charles didn’t get all of his length in his mouth, if Charles was to listen to the sounds he was making and the _oh mein Gott, oh mein Gott, bitte hör nicht auf, das fühlt sich so gut an_ … that ran through his head like a mantra. ‘Oh my god, please don’t stop, that feels so good,’ roughly translated, Charles noted in the back of his mind, checking this to make sure that all was well. As before, Erik lost a lot of his English and reverted back to his mother tongue when he was… less than in perfect control.

Charles sucked experimentally again, moving his head a little, and Erik’s hips bucked as he let out a whimper. Delighted, Charles began to add suction in earnest, moving his head up and down to create constant stimulation, letting his length slide through Charles’ lips. Erik whimpered and cried out, one hand balling in the blankets below him, the other in Charles’ hair, and Charles drowned himself in the sensations Erik was feeling, in the ecstasy of what he was doing to him. It was like a feedback loop, the sensations and emotions multiplying back and forth and back, and it was nearly dizzying.

He was close, Charles could tell- again, he had been living in university housing and unfortunately for a telepath living anywhere near a large group of sexually-active college students, people tended to project during sex and especially toward the end. Erik bucked and whimpered, crying out, his sweat-slicked skin glimmering in the moonlight, and then his eyes opened, wild and almost frenzied.

“ _Ich will dich jetzt sofort_ ,” he managed, and pushed Charles over and down on the blankets, pulling the rest of his trousers off his legs and kicking off his own jeans entirely. Charles scanned for a translation- _I want you right now_ and had time to smile before Erik’s fingers brushed at his entrance, and electricity zipped through him. “Is this okay?” he breathed, and Charles nodded, a little shakily, but certainly all the same. Erik slid a finger into Charles and the latter gasped at just how fucking good it felt as Erik moved his finger inside, sending what genuinely almost felt like little shocks through his body with every movement.

Charles tipped his head back with a moan as Erik joined a second finger inside him and lowered his head to suck and bite Charles’ nipples at the same time. This elicited a _God, Erik!_ through the bond, which, as a small tin crashed beside them, caused Erik to give a hoarse laugh. “Emma’s lotion,” he explained as Charles looked around at the sound, and Charles felt a grin crash across his face. She would definitely not be happy if she’d known that her -probably incredibly expensive lotion- was to be used for this.

But those thoughts dissolved as Erik wrapped his hand around Charles’ cock, stroking as he murmured against Charles’ skin, laying between his spread legs with now three fingers moving inside him. _You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,_ Erik whispered as he pushed his fingers in deeper and Charles tossed his head back with a sharp intake of breath, his hips bucking as he breathed Erik’s name.

There was a slight coolness as Erik gently applied the lotion, stroking Charles in and out with one hand and his other still on his erection, Erik’s own pressing into Charles’ thigh. Then he stopped, and Charles looked up at him blearily, struggling to focus with all the sensory things hitting him all at once. “Are you ready?” Erik’s voice was slightly hoarse, slightly unsteady, and he was breathing hard, his sweaty hair slightly in his eyes still, but waiting for Charles. Still, he was trying to assure Charles, they could stop. He’d pack everything up.

Charles sent him a pulse of need and affection, want and acceptance and happiness, and Erik’s eyes heated. He gripped Charles’ hip with one hand and slowly guided himself into him with the other, reapplying lotion carefully.

The weight and fullness there was strange, Charles couldn’t deny that, but _god_ it felt good as Erik filled him, and since Charles could feel how good it felt for Erik as his body hugged him, the experience was exquisite. Erik smiled a little against Charles’ neck, checking him over quickly, then ducked his head and kissed him slowly as he pulled out slowly, so slowly, and then pushed back in, sending Charles’ nerve endings screaming and jumping. His hips bucked and Erik laughed breathlessly, slowly picking up the pace, pursuing the angles where Charles moaned or cried out, riding the waves of their impending orgasms as pure pleasure washed over both of them and flooded the connection they had opened.

It wasn’t long before Erik was slamming into Charles, gripping Charles’ hip with one hand and steadying himself with the other, whispering and moaning Charles’ name between kissing him, swallowing his whimpers and cries and moans as pleasure hit over and over in shimmering waves that Charles had never experienced before. Second-hand orgasms hadn’t quite felt like this, and his own experiments had been satisfactory, but nothing like this, either.

Their pleasure built, spiking higher and higher as they moved together, and Charles cried out his name- not Two but Erik, his real name, his favorite name in the world- and Erik came, crying out the only name he knew Charles as, throwing back his head and gripping Charles’ hip with bruising tightness. Charles had been in close enough to hear very clearly for plenty of orgasms, living in the dormitory, but he hadn’t been linked like this with any of them, and it was fascinating, in an academic way, how he could feel his almost as strongly as if it were Charles’ own, his beautifully steady mind filling with sensation and light, concentration shattering into tiny pieces as pure ecstasy and bliss flooded the connection between them. His orgasm triggered Charles’, and Charles cried out his name again as Erik stroked Charles’ cock, stretching out the ecstasy for Charles as long as he could even through his own climax.

* * *

The world came back into focus endless moments or minutes later, with Charles curled up and tucked into Erik’s side, his fingers running through Charles’ tangled and sweaty curls sleepily, mind a haze of contentment and happiness and affection. “Hey,” he murmured, voice almost a half octave deeper. “How do you feel? Did I hurt you?” A twinge of fear floated across the connection- Charles hadn’t broken it, so they were still almost seamlessly bound.

 _No_. Charles felt drowsy and sated, heavy and almost drugged with pleasure and contentment. He couldn’t quite remember ever feeling this safe. Certainly he hadn’t in his home, and in his first few months at Oxford, he’d been haunted by the constant fear that Kurt might come by, might appear out of nowhere and grab him by the throat. Later, he had felt safer there. Particularly in the library.

But here, where he actually had a very real chance of being killed (and being killed for what he had just done) he felt… more safe and more happy than he ever had in his life.

 _You didn’t hurt me_ , Charles added, turning his head and kissing Erik’s neck slowly. Would it be possible to just stay up here? To never leave, never return below, just to dwell in this afterglow forever? _You were perfect. You’re always perfect._

Erik laughed, pulling Charles closer. _I’m glad you think so, at least,_ he murmured, running his fingers gently down Charles’ arm. “I love that you have _freckles_ ,” he said after a moment, teasing, and Charles laughed.

“My genetic makeup says that you’re welcome,” he said dryly, finding his voice very slightly hoarse. He couldn’t help a grin at that and settled further against Erik’s chest, watching as his lover swirled the metal cuffs around and around without touching them, the bracelets spinning softly around his wrists. “That tickles,” he mumbled on a yawn, smiling a little.

Erik smiled. “I know you trust me,” he said warmly, kissing his temple, “But will you trust me with those, for a minute? I’ve been practicing things, I want to try something.”

Charles hesitated for a beat, his groggy brain trying to process the question and accept the request for his only precious possession. But it was Erik who wanted them, Erik who was warm and soft and safe around Charles, so he nodded, settling back against Erik again once he realized that he’d stilled. “I trust you with them,” Charles agreed, reluctantly releasing the mechanisms from his wrists. He felt oddly light without the familiar weight, and was faintly amused by the fact that it was disconcerting.

Erik lifted both hands and the manacles hung in midair, then spun, disintegrating into liquid. Charles stiffened with the smallest flicker of panic, but stifled it, didn’t speak. Erik had asked Charles to trust him, Charles had to wait- and then there were two pools of metal in the air. He started doing complicated motions with his fingers, brows furrowed in concentration, and Charles gave up trying to follow them or the manipulations of power he could hear in Erik’s head, waiting to see what was happening instead.

After a few moments of fiddling with it and reshaping it, a bracelet of sorts hung in the air before them, turning slowly as Erik examined it. The manacles were now a thick metal bracelet, the links alternating a shimmery, shining metal and a duller, darker one. Erik smiled at me, lowering it into my hands. “Tungsten and platinum,” he said quietly. “Two metals that compliment each other.” Charles could feel rather than see Erik’s face heat. “They’re… I dunno. I thought it might be cool, to have them alternating. Shaw’s such a dick, using _platinum_ in a handcuff.”

He didn’t try to explain the analogy in his mind, or the precise reasoning behind it. Perhaps it would be hard for him to vocalize the way the platinum’s vibration and the tungsten’s vibration nearly sang together, the way the metals chimed so smoothly despite how different they were. But Charles, still linked, saw these details and smiled against Erik’s skin, curling his fingers around the bracelet.

“It’s perfect,” he said sincerely, tilting his head back to meet Erik’s eyes. “Truly, genuinely, incandescently perfect. Thank you.” He pressed a slow kiss to Erik’s lips, placed his head back on his talented metallokinetic’s chest, and began to trace a scar on Erik’s ribcage that was almost shaped like a ginkgo leaf as his other hand held the bracelet over his heart. He hesitated for a minute in the peaceful quiet, then, “You… do know, don’t you?” 

He didn’t look at Erik, didn’t say the words. He knew that, if they were said, it would be that much harder for Erik if this all went wrong, if Shaw did succeed in breaking them and everyone else to pieces. But Charles needed him to know it all the same, even if they never used the precise words.

Still connected, Erik could hear the nuances behind the question without having to ask, and nodded, turning his face into Charles’ hair. “Yes,” he said quietly, hugging him into his side. He was relieved, happiness and joy flowing through the bridge. He had never said the words to anyone, had never had the words spoken except by family, and it was wonderful and strange to him, but mostly wonderful. “And you know that I do, too, right? You are a mind-reader. You probably knew before I did.”

Charles felt his smile, broad and brilliant, cross his face, and pressed it against Erik’s skin. “Well, we try not to parade things about or go looking for such things,” he said, striving for nonchalance and not the joy running rampant in his bloodstream. It wasn’t a very effective act, given that the mind-link was still in place. Charles pressed another kiss to Erik’s neck and severed the link carefully, pulling back into his own shields.

The world was dimmer and less colorful without two perceptions. His own emotions felt smaller, more content to sit in his skin rather than burst out of it, and Charles realized that he felt very, very tired. He shut his eyes, flattening his hand over the ginkgo leaf. “I suppose it would be bad for us to spend the night here,” he sighed, brow furrowing slightly.

“It would,” Erik chuckled, but sounded just as disappointed to have to move from their warm, comfortable spot. “I don’t want to push it further than we can.” He rolled Charles onto his back, pressing a kiss over his heart. “One of these days,” he murmured against Charles’ pale skin, “I will fall asleep next to you every day, and wake up with you every day.” He smiled up at Charles. “We’re going to get out and build a life together, Twelve.”

“Good.” Charles leaned down, catching his lips again before slowly extricating himself and beginning to get dressed again. “I like tea in the mornings,” he added cheerfully, turning and reaching down to help him up and marveling quietly at the soreness and stretch in his own body. They'd need to clean up, he thought to himself with a smile, and decided that it only made sense to share a shower. “Help me put this on?” he requested once Erik was standing, holding the bracelet out on his palm.

Erik did so with a bemused, sweet sort of smile, and Charles felt himself fall, a little deeper and more irrevocably, in love with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment if you have any thoughts or feedback! This is our first fic and we'd love how to learn to do better.


	6. The Price of Defiance- Erik: 2007

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik has a nightmare, Charles tests out a new ability, and they both learn how far Shaw is willing to go in retaliation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _An unimportant fact (but it's important to Goosenik that you all know)-- this fic was set in 2007. The title "A Year From Now, We'll All Be Gone," and the pieces of song that Eleven mumbles are both from "Rivers and Roads" by The Head and the Heart. It's a lovely and melancholy and somewhat hopeful song that Goosenik listened to frequently while plotweaving with this fic. It was released in 2010, so technically shouldn't have been out when Eleven was taken, but we're ignoring that fact because we can. Just wanted to let y'all know, since this is the last chapter under this work title!_

It was a good thing that Twelve was shielding Erik’s mind, Erik thought later. In the wake of the evening in the observatory, his mind was all over the place. He just kept reliving touching Twelve for the first time, the way he’d trusted him with his body and his most precious possession, the ease of doing even complex things like creating the bracelet when he had someone like that to do it for, to show the extent of his gifts. Those kinds of things had never been easy, but having Twelve’s unwavering faith and interest had helped immensely.

When he wasn’t overwhelmed by the sensory memories, or considering what his power had been able to do, he was thinking a lot about how Twelve loved him.

It was difficult to believe, in many ways. Twelve was a beautiful, brilliant, kind, incredible person who deserved the absolute best of life. Erik didn’t have the ability to give him that. Even supposing they got out of here somehow, Erik had no money and few skills with which to help Twelve make a living. He’d have to start back in _junior high_ to catch up, god forbid. Or at least go to high school. Erik wasn’t certain what the policies were, but he knew he probably had to at least test out of certain subjects, and there were some that he wasn’t up to par on.

But the reality of the shared connection they’d had, the way it had broken open their shields, ensured that there was no way to misunderstand. Twelve loved him, as unbelievable as it was, and as undeserving as Erik was, it was true. Erik loved him, and Twelve loved Erik, somehow. It felt like a balloon in his stomach, sometimes painful because it made him so happy and he was so unused to being happy, but usually it was just buoyant and filled with joy like helium. Every night that they managed to steal time away for a chess game, every time he walked into the room and Twelve’s eyes lit at his presence, every time Twelve whispered _Erik_ as Erik’s hands and mouth memorized his scars, dug the reality of this knowledge deeper into Erik Lensherr’s heart.

His mind flickered back to the story Twelve had read to them, to the way the fox had spoken to the little prince. Taming someone, the fox had explained, changed them irrevocably. He had spoken of how the wheat would always remind him of the prince, of how he could never look at the color gold the same way again.

Blue would never just be blue again, Erik understood quite simply. Tea would never smell like _just_ tea, but instead would bring him back to leaning against the counter, watching Twelve prepare drinks for them. Chess would always remind him of long fingers, of sweaters and stacks of ancient books. The world would never, so long as Erik lived, be as simple and plain as it had been before. All of these things had been changed irrevocably because _he_ had been changed. Because he had been tamed.

He was wildly, stupidly, ridiculously in love with a boy whose name he didn’t know, and they needed to get out so he could find a way to build a life for both of them that Twelve and Erik would both enjoy. Because like hell he was going to let them live out whatever remained of their lives here, under Shaw’s thumb.

* * *

He’d had a particularly exhausting session one day (Shaw had wanted him to flip a traincar) and had barely gotten to see Twelve, only glimpsing him on his way to bed. Twelve had set the chessboard aside and firmly ordered him to sleep, waving off Erik’s tired attempts to make casual conversation. “You need to rest,” he pressed, covering Erik’s mouth with his hand. “Go to sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Erik argued for a few minutes, but finally did, falling directly into nightmares.

_“You have great power, Erik.” Sebastian Shaw rested a hand on his shoulder, dark eyes glittering. “And you could do great things with that power. That’s all I want for you. I want you to be as strong as you can be, and the only way we can do that is if we push you. So I’m going to push you. It’s not going to be easy, it’s not going to be fun, but it’s going to turn you into something magnificent. You’re just going to have to be brave for me. You’re thirteen, you’re turning into a man already. You can be brave, can’t you?”_

_Erik nodded quickly. “I can be brave,” he agreed, wanting to make Mr. Shaw proud. “I try hard in school, my teachers push me and I do really good. Well.” He corrected the mistake quickly. “I can learn, Herr Shaw.”_

_“I know you can, my pet.” He ruffled Erik’s hair, fingers lingering there for a moment, and then he turned, waving a hand. The tall, muscled man at the door turned and opened it, and a tall girl with red hair and frightened eyes was brought in._

_“So then,” he said, pulling a knife from his pocket. “I’m going to throw these at her, and you’re going to make sure they don’t hit her. Sound good?”_

_The girl said something rapidly in a language Erik couldn’t catch, clearly panicked at the sight of the knife, and the tall man grabbed her wrists, holding her still. Erik stared up at Herr Shaw, stumbling back. “Sir, no! No, I can’t do that, What if I miss? What if I mess up?”_

_“Oh, little Lensherr, I trust you.” He clapped him bracingly on the back. “I’ll tell you what- I’ll start far away and get closer. Let you warm up a bit.”_

_He threw the knife. It hit the wall, too fast for Erik to even track. Shaw pulled out another knife. Erik tried this time, reaching a hand out as soon as he saw it, but it hit the wall again, this time close enough to the girl that she let out a small squeak. Shaw tutted disapprovingly, pulling out the third. Erik felt sick nervousness drumming through him, but raised a hand. He could get it, he could push it away and stop this. Surely this was just a test, it was just… it was practice. It wasn’t real. The knife wobbled in the air, but hit her in the arm and the man’s hand muffled her scream, still held her in place. Shaw held up the last knife, making eye contact with Erik, who felt sick._

_“Last chance,” he said gently, and then threw it._

_It hit her square in the throat and she choked as blood spurted across the floor. The muscled man released he in disgust, letting her drop, and Erik stared at her, knees and hands shaking as he tried to form words, reaching out for her._

_“Sir,” he tried to say, but it came out more as a squeak. “Sir, I…” she was dead, and it was because he wasn’t strong enough to stop something as little as a knife. She was dead, she would never be able to do anything again, he hadn’t known her name or who she was, and now her parents wouldn’t see her again and it was his fault..._

_“I know, I know.” Shaw drew him into his side with a disappointed sigh. “You failed her. But maybe it wasn’t the right circumstances, that’s all. Maybe we need more of a personal motivation for you. How would you like to see your mother for a visit, hm?”_

Erik woke up yelling, jumping out of bed at the touch of foreign hands. He grabbed the shadow, slammed it down on the bed with a hand around its throat, and fingers caught his shoulders. 

_Erik, Erik, it’s me. You’re safe, you’re safe. It was a dream, it’s never going to happen again, you’ll never be put in that situation again. It’s me, it was a dream._

Twelve didn’t move otherwise, didn’t even try to remove the hand from around his neck, just stroked Erik’s shoulders, repeating his soothing words, and somehow that was the worst thing as Erik staggered back, hitting the wall as self-disgust and revulsion hit him. He had hurt Twelve, had attacked him without even thinking about it. All the metal in the room fell to the ground where it had been levitating, ready to strike, and Erik pressed a shaking hand to his mouth, staring at the dark figure he could barely see in the dim light given from the hallway. “Twelve?” His voice cracked, as it had in the dream. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he assured him softly, standing up and crossing to where Erik was standing. The light from the hallway hit his face there, illuminating the soft blue eyes and messy curls. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you while you were having a nightmare, I just-” he reached for him, faltered. “I don’t want to make it worse,” he said lamely, uncertainly, hands hovering between them.

Erik took his hands, burying his face in Charles’ palms. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I just… no one ever touches me when I’m having nightmares, I didn’t know to tell you not to. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

“Don’t be a fool, you didn’t hurt me,” he scoffed it, moving closer and catching Erik’s shoulders. He pulled him back to the bed and pressed down on his shoulders until he sat. Then Charles climbed onto the bed, sitting behind him and hugging him from behind. “You choke like a girl,” he offered, tone light and teasing.

Erik took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to focus, to settle himself. “I can still spear you with a fork,” he said, trying for lightness as well. “Thank you for waking me up. I’m so sorry.” He took in a deep breath again, then relaxed a little. “How did you know I was having a nightmare?”

“I wasn’t asleep yet, I was reading and heard you.” He pressed a kiss to the back of Erik’s shoulder, hesitated there, then, “Erik, I’m… I’m so sorry about your mother. It wasn’t your fault. You do know that?”

Erik let out another long breath. “It was. They were both my fault. I should have been able to stop them, it wasn’t like lifting a person. A knife and a bullet, they’re not even heavy. It’s not even _hard_.” Erik focused so he didn’t start twisting all the metal in the room into corkscrews. “But I failed, and they’re gone.”

“You did _not_ fail.” Twelve’s voice was aggressive, nearly violent, and a flicker of rage burst across Erik’s mind before he realized that it wasn’t his own. “Erik, you were a child. You were frightened. You had just manifested. That would be like- like ordering Ten to manifest a sword out of flame when she was a child, or telling me to-“ he broke off for a moment, arms tightening where they were banded around Erik’s shoulders. He was silent for a moment, then, “You had no idea how to control your abilities then. You could do it now, yes, you’re experienced and practiced, you’ve almost mastered your gift. But it’s like telling a child to write an essay in university-level vocabulary. They’re going to fail because they simply don’t know how to do it yet.”

Erik turned slowly in Twelve’s arms, resting his head against the shorter boy’s, hugging him tightly. There were moments, here and there, where Twelve slipped and mentioned that his life had been harder than maybe he usually let on. It always made Erik feel sick. How anyone could mistreat this beautiful, wonderful boy, Erik would never understand. “I know that, logically. But it doesn’t make the way I feel change at all.” He slowly stroked Twelve’s curls back, calming down a little. “I like that you get mad, and protective. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“To be fair, you’ve not had the opportunity to meet very high quality of people,” he reasoned softly, anchoring a hand at the back of Erik’s neck. “It wasn’t your fault, Erik. It was Shaw’s. He knew you would fail. He knew it would cripple you, he knew you would spend the rest of your life grieving and hating yourself for not saving them. He knew you would work that much harder afterwards so that you never felt weak or failed again. There was no way out, he didn’t leave you one. The game was always fixed, my friend.”

Erik smiled a little, closing his eyes again. It soothed him, somehow, that even though they were definitely more than friends, Twelve still _called_ him ‘friend.’ It reminded him that their relationship hadn’t really changed in the ways that mattered. “It’s always so easy for you to see all these things, to make logic work.” He shook his head, heart rate slowly lowering. “Next time I’m having a nightmare, just throw something at me or let me sleep. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you because I was frightened.”

“No,” Twelve disagreed gently. “I will always wake you up, Erik. And it will always be with a gentle touch and your name. You’ve had enough cruelty for one life.” He scooted back and laid down in Erik’s bed, pressing himself against the wall. “Come on, come sleep.”

“Throwing water on me isn’t _cruel_ ,” Erik protested, but curled up against Twelve anyway, resting his head on the pillow they always shared whenever Twelve snuck in. He was quiet for a while, sliding his hand beneath Twelve’s shirt to rest his fingers against the skin beneath, just seeking comfort. “Thank you,” he whispered into the younger boy’s shirt, inhaling the warm tea and old book smell that Twelve always carried with him.

 _I will always come back for you_. Twelve promised it easily and yet sincerely, tucking his head on top of Erik’s. _I’ll keep an ear out for anyone who gets too close. Just rest, Erik. I’m not going anywhere tonight._

And this time, Erik’s dreams were soft, sweet, and seamless. 

* * *

They had a break after that, an odd period of a week before anyone was called. Twelve took up the given time with chess sessions and books, neverending questions about Erik’s life and preferences. In odd moments, when they seemed to be alone and there was no one paying attention to them, Erik would catch Twelve, pulling him close for a quick kiss before separating and heading his own way. Sometimes, in the dead of night, Twelve would slip into Erik’s room and curl into bed beside him. Sometimes they just fell back to sleep. Other times they’d kiss, hands exploring and minds focused solely on each other, rather than just survival.

Erik loved those tiny moments that they managed to sneak in between everything else that they were dealing with. The fear of discovery was strong, the awareness that they could be punished or killed very present, the fact that they were prisoners was undeniable… But Erik had someone, for the very first time in his life. He was as happy as he could be, and it was all because of Twelve.

Erik knew factually that these were the best few weeks of the last seven years of his life, all things considered. He felt like he was walking on air all the time, high above the fears that had weighed around his neck for so many years. Even when they weren’t flirting or kissing, they were still spending time together, which is what mattered and what Erik enjoyed. Having Twelve to talk to, to laugh with, to discuss everything under the sun with, made a huge difference in the way that he saw the world around him. They argued endlessly about books and politics. Twelve updated him on the state of the world, detailing current affairs in Europe as well as America. Chess matches commenced daily, sometimes observed and commentated on by Ten. Erik was beginning to feel like he was where he needed to be: by Twelve’s side, within arm’s reach.

That feeling was terrifying. If he was walking on air, then he was constantly at risk to plummet, crashing through the air and into the earth like Icarus.

Those seven days passed in a beautiful blur, with all of these things and all of this beauty. On the eighth day, Emma came for Eleven, and Twelve… interfered.

“We don’t know where she is,” he said calmly, hands in his pockets. Eleven, who was curled up in her usual chair, didn’t react to this. Emma started to laugh.

“Please, sugar. You think you can play this game with me?”

“What game?” Twelve arched an eyebrow at her. “We haven’t seen her all day, I thought she was in her room.” His tone was so light, so airy, but his eyes were focused sharply on Emma, small lines of strain evident in the tension of his shoulders and back. Emma’s mockery seemed to waver slightly as she turned her head to look at the chair, and Twelve gripped the edge of the desk beside him, body trembling minutely. Erik wanted to run to him, support him, but he couldn’t do anything right now, because it could distract him.

“She’s here.” But Emma didn’t sound certain anymore, her eyes slowly moving across the armchair. Ten was sitting bolt-upright, staring at Twelve in open-mouthed disbelief. Erik was in equal shock, past the worrying way Twelve was standing. Twelve had never said anything to suggest that he was strong enough to do this, to fool Emma, of all people, and like this. Could he do this to anyone? It was absolutely fascinating, if it didn’t worry Erik so much.

“We haven’t seen her all day,” Twelve repeated. “You may want to search the building.”

Erik kept his thoughts as shielded and caged as he could, looking between them. He needed to protect Twelve, but he couldn’t throw him off, couldn’t disrupt this distraction that Twelve had created. He couldn’t risk the retaliation that would follow.

Emma faltered, uncharacteristically off-balance for one more moment, then turned on her heel and vanished back into the hallway, her heels clicking away rapidly. Twelve dropped to a crouch, his hand loosely holding onto the desk for support.

“I wasn’t inside her shields,” he said, and it took Erik a moment to realize that Twelve must be answering Ten’s unspoken question. “I was just… projecting. Very loudly.” He reached up with his other hand, which was trembling, and pressed the edge of his sleeve to his nose as blood slipped onto his lips. “They’ll realize the truth, I only stalled it.”

“Twelve.” Erik lunged forward, helping him sit quickly and pressing his sleeve to Twelve’s nose. “Jesus, what did you do?” His heart pounded at the sight of Twelve’s blood, something he hadn’t actually seen before. “Are you okay? What hurts?”

Twelve nodded, though he tilted his head back very slightly. “No, you’ll get blood on your shirt-“

“Here.” Ten offered a tissue, clearly impressed despite herself, and Erik felt a flicker of gratitude as Twelve took it with a murmur of thanks, pressing it to his nose instead and sagging against him bonelessly.

He glanced up at Erik with a crooked, weary sort of smile. _I couldn’t stand by and watch her be hurt if I could stop it._ He said the words just to Erik, stretching his long legs out in front of them. _She’s just starting to do a little better now and if they cut her up again, she’ll go right back to being buried. If she makes it at all. I’m okay, it’s just a bit of a strain._

Erik wanted to hit him. _And if you give yourself a goddamn aneurism how does that help anyone?_ “I could give less of a shit about my shirt,” he informed Twelve. “Where are you hurting?”

“It’s just a headache, I’m fine,” he assured him quickly, checking the tissue before pressing it to his nose again. He seemed paler, but he wasn’t shaking as badly now. _I’ve just never done that before, that’s all. Really, Erik_. “It’s just an everyday nosebleed,” he dismissed with his usual talent for weaving in and out of silent and verbal conversations on a whim. Erik could never determine if it was intentional, or even if Twelve fully knew he was doing it.

Erik searched his eyes, trying to determine if he was lying to help Erik feel better, or if he was telling the truth. “You need to be careful. Don’t overdo it so much again, you’ll hurt yourself and we don’t have any healers here.”

“All right,” he agreed with his usual good nature, giving in easily enough that it made Erik that much more suspicious over his health.

He looked up at the surroundings, wishing that he could reach into the infrastructure and pull the whole goddamn thing down, then focused back on Twelve. “Have you bled like that before?”

“No.” Twelve pulled the tissue away from his nose carefully. “I’ve never had to strain like that before. I couldn’t access her mind, so instead I had to present my mind and image as so vivid and alluring it overwrote what her conscious eyes were seeing. I’ve never had to try before.” He studied the blood on the tissue, then threw it away quickly. “It’s nothing. I’m sure you’ve had similar when you push yourself.”

 _I doubt you had to try very hard. You are always the most alluring thing in the room_ , Erik shot him, and had the pleasure of watching as Twelve coughed, choking somewhat on the water Ten had tossed him.

Twelve’s point, however, was fair— Erik had bled from practically everywhere at some point; Shaw’s _pushing_ had a habit of getting very intense very quickly, and human or mutant bodies could only take so much stress before something broke. “It’s not nothing, though. Take it easy now or you’re going to have a migraine for a few days.” He glanced at Ten. “Do you remember the time you couldn’t even turn on a light for a week without throwing up?” He gave her a half-smile.

She scowled. “I’m better now. I haven’t hit burnout for months.”

“Of course not.” The smile Twelve offered her was winning, another clear attempt in his endless campaign to get himself in her good graces. “You’re far too experienced for that.” 

She snorted and looked away, a little pleased despite herself, and Twelve shot Erik a quick grin. He had taken it as a challenge when Erik had informed him that befriending Ten was an extremely slow process, and it warmed Erik’s heart to see him trying so hard, and succeeding. “Yeah, it would be a shame if I got a migraine,” he mused in a low voice. “I wouldn’t be able to stay up late arguing with you about proper library organizational methods or the fact that you have abysmal taste in literature.”

Erik glared at him. “My taste in literature is _fine_. There is _nothing_ wrong with what I read. Not all of us have such high-brow tastes.” And actually, he thought to himself, it _would_ be a shame if they couldn’t stay up late arguing or doing anything more fun. Arguing with Twelve was one of Erik’s favorite things to do, right behind eliciting the whimpers he could sometimes get Twelve to make. He looked glorious when he was furious, for one, all flashing cerulean irises and flushed freckled cheeks, all beautiful 8anger and righteousness. For another, it was a good way of keeping his mind off his sessions, but Erik didn’t particularly want to admit that. Twelve disliked references to his own weakness. He had very few, if any, in Erik’s opinion, but he allowed Twelve to guide the conversation about it, most of the time.

“But Kafka is _excellent!_ ” Twelve stared at Erik now, eyebrows raising high. “You don’t know what you’re missing, you need to try it. Just one short story!”

“Oh my god, get a room,” Ten grumped, braiding Eleven’s hair, and Twelve, though his grin didn’t diminish, looked faintly pink as his eyes flickered to Erik’s lips. Erik had to fight very hard not to do the same thing. After a few minutes, Charles invited Erik into the library for a game of chess.

They barely made it through the door before they were kissing, Erik’s hands pulling Twelve’s shirt up over his head and onto the floor. He pressed him up against the nearest bookshelf and Twelve’s leg wrapped around his waist, his hands eager and insistent on Erik’s shoulders as Erik hiked up his other leg up around his waist, supporting his weight.

Life, Erik reflected as he bit down on Twelve’s neck, resulting in that lovely soft, low whimpering noise and spasming fingers, had gotten terrifyingly wonderful in the past few months.

* * *

That night, while Erik waited for Ten and Eleven to fall asleep so that he could sneak to Twelve’s room and debate with him, he read _The Hunger Artist_ , by Kafka. It was unbelievably pretentious, and he mentally prepared his arguments against the short story, going so far as to making notes so Twelve’s eyes wouldn’t distract him from his arguments. It had happened before.

Book in hand, Erik started to Twelve’s room, ready to sit and argue with him for a few hours about what did and did not constitute an ‘excellent’ author. While not quite as well-read as Twelve, Erik definitely had some forceful opinions of his own on the topic, and saying Kafka was _one of the best authors in the last hundred years_ was absolutely ridiculous. Erik reached the door, stared at the room that sat beyond, and stopped short, confused.

Twelve wasn’t there.

Erik glanced at his watch, feeling the usual mix of resentment that he relied on something that Shaw had given him and of relief that he even had a watch to use. It was one in the morning, Twelve should be in bed, should be waiting to talk to him and play chess and kiss like every night. Erik couldn’t feel the metal of his bangle anywhere in the vicinity nearby and frowned harder, then headed for the library.

He couldn’t shake the odd feeling of foreboding in his bones as he opened the door and scanned the bookshelves. Twelve wasn’t tucked into the niche he had built himself out of stacks of books, and Erik didn’t see him wandering through the shelves in search of some obscure novel that their ancient and moldering collection almost definitely didn’t have. The foreboding intensified, Erik finding himself taking a small step back toward the hallway, and then he froze as the idea hit him like a battering ram. 

_They’ll realize the truth. I only stalled it._

Shaw would be out for blood. Twelve had lied to Emma, had lied to him by extension.

Vicious multilingual swear words crashed together like thunder in Erik’s mind as he turned on his heel, heading in a run toward the rooms where Shaw always took them. If Twelve wasn’t here, that meant he was with _them_. Shaw had him, and that meant he was hurting. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, pounding like a drum just under his skin. Shaw had Twelve and he was _angry_ , which was just about the worst sentence Erik could string together in any language.

That same nausea born out of fear for someone he cared about reared its ugly head and he put on speed, sprinting now. The doors he passed rattled in their frames, the casing on the lights shivering and crunching in on the lightbulbs as he sprinted down the hallway. He wasn’t paying attention, angry and scared out of his wits.

 _Shaw appreciates strength,_ Erik reasoned with himself frantically as his feet beat against the ground. Surely Shaw would see the worth in the fact that Twelve had been strong enough to fool Emma. He would be furious, but he wouldn’t _kill_ Twelve, not yet, not for that… right? It was a sign of potential amongst the defiance, and Shaw craved nothing so much as potential.

But then, nothing infuriated him so much as defiance, either.

“Two,” Emma’s voice greeted Erik idly, and he skidded to a stop in front of her. She was lounging in a doorway, painting her nails with silver paint. The fact that she was waiting there for him made Erik’s fear ratchet up another notch. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Coming to see you.” Erik quickly reordered his thoughts, trying not to completely panic, and definitely trying not to let Emma see his terror. He needed her to not be here, needed her to get out of the way, needed to be in front of Twelve and needed to be _protecting_ him from whatever Shaw was doing in this moment. “We missed your face at dinner today, and I thought I would come by and see how your nails were doing.”

 _Twelve, where are you?_ He cast the words out, trying to keep his expression and stance steady. Twelve didn’t answer. He hadn’t ever not answered. Terrifying scenarios flashed through Erik’s mind, making his legs shake. He had never not answered.

“My nails?” Emma eyebrows raised, her hip popping to the side. “Oh, honey, growing up here really didn’t do wonders for your social skills, did it? And I can _hear_ you projecting to him, it’s not exactly subtle.”

Erik could hear distant, muffled screaming, and his stomach tied itself in knots. He wanted to scream back, wanted to tear through everything in his way to get to Twelve. Nothing was going to be able to stop him, but he also knew what Emma could do. He needed to get her out of the way. “Emma, where is he? What are you guys doing to him?”

Emma watched him, her blue eyes so utterly incomparable to Twelve’s. Hers were arctic while his were a Grecian ocean. “It’s not a good idea, honey. You’ve been here seven years, you know they don’t last. Why would you let yourself get attached? Just because he’s cute and fantasizes that he’s in love with you doesn’t mean you have to reciprocate those affections. If you just applied yourself a little more, you could be out of here.”

Erik stared at her for a moment, then peeled a door off the hinges and threw it at her without another thought, running through the now-open doorway toward the screams. He needed to stop it. He _had_ to stop it, Twelve couldn’t die now, he couldn’t disappear now, Erik had just gotten him and he loved him and Erik should have known better, he’d seen what defiance did and he should have stuck with him all day. He should have _warned_ him, he’d seen what happened when people challenged Shaw. Twelve, his Twelve, was alone with Shaw and Shaw was angry and they knew that Twelve loved him so they probably knew that Erik loved Twelve, too, and Erik had honestly never been more scared in his life.

Sebastian Shaw looked up in surprise as Erik burst into the room at a dead sprint. “Lensherr?” He asked, and it was really, truly, one of the only times Erik had ever seen him caught off-guard as Erik froze in place, taking in the scene as the floor dropped out under his feet and his head spun.

Twelve had gone silent, broken off into hoarse wheezing. His eyes were hidden with a bloody blindfold and he was laying on his stomach, his back bare and slick with blood. Shaw was holding a knife and _oh god_ , Erik could see what looked like Twelve’s spine through the cuts that had been ripped into his back, entire sections of skin missing. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Surprise changed to ice as Shaw set the knife down. Erik was immobile for a moment, the violence and hurt Twelve had to be feeling hitting him like a tidal wave.

 _What doing, why here, go back--_ Twelve’s thoughts were disorganized and chaotic, splinters of pain and thought pushed clumsily at Erik. _Go be safe, go back, please please please go be safe Erik please—_

Terror gripped Erik-- had Shaw blinded him? He’d badly hurt his back, Erik wasn’t sure how he would get him out but would get there when it came to it- and then he lunged, sending instruments and knives and scalpels pelting Shaw, imbedding in his skin and drilling as deep as he could, driving him back as Erik reached for Twelve desperately. He needed to get him out of here. He’d ball up _all_ the metal in the whole fucking building and throw it through a door or window or whatever he could find and he’d get Ten to help. They could burn through everything until they were free and they’d burn everything behind them-

And then the world went black with the clicking of a pair of heels.

* * *

“Erik, Erik.” He woke slowly, Shaw’s disapproving and somewhat-regretful voice dragging him from the depths. “You were meant to be so much more than this, my pet. I don’t know where we went wrong, everything was coming along so _well_.” His finger tapped Erik’s forehead twice, lingering there.

Erik opened his eyes slowly, focusing on Shaw as fear swept back through him, hot and heavy. He couldn’t see Twelve, he couldn’t hear him. _Twelve wasn’t there_ , and last time Erik had seen him, he had been scared and bleeding all over the place. He couldn’t feel the bracelet, the metal that he had become so intimately familiar with, he probably could have picked it out in a landfill buried under hundreds of pounds of trash.

“Where’s Twelve?” Erik asked, desperate enough with fear and sickness not to even try to be circumspect. “It was a dare, we were practicing our powers and it was perfect, it worked out so well and we were going to tell you, sir.” He hated more than anything the way he regressed when he was with him, a child terrified of what was coming, but he’d do anything, whatever Shaw wanted, to protect Twelve. Whatever he wanted, Erik would take care of it. He would do whatever horrible thing he wanted, he just wanted him safe and back in his arms.

Shaw sighed, looking down at Erik with something akin to regret. Erik’s brain processed their surroundings slowly— they were in the basement, in the plexiglass room he had shown him only twice in the past seven years, each time a distinct and clear threat. He was lying on the ground, his hands in plexiglass cuffs in front of him, and Shaw was crouched beside him. He couldn’t feel any metal in the room at all, nowhere near.

“Darling Erik, I could have believed that. I could have forgiven it, at least- you know how much I’ve always liked you.” Shaw’s fingers combed once through Erik’s hair. He wanted to recoil, but he held frozen, too terrified for Twelve. “But you didn’t lead with that, did you? You tried to _kill_ me, my boy. You would have, had Emma not been around to stop you.” He stood, straightening. “Such a betrayal to the man who made you, who gave you everything you are.”

“No sir,” Erik said fast, feeling his heart pounding hard enough that he was certain Shaw had to be able to hear it. He _reached_ and couldn’t feel any metal, just a tiny echo far above them. Without metal, he was powerless, no better than a human. He couldn’t get his hands loose and Shaw _wasn’t telling him where Twelve was_. Erik’s head spun, his heart thundering violently under his skin. Twelve wasn’t here and Shaw wasn’t talking about him, and if there was metal anywhere near, he would have been pulling it all together, crunching it into a ball around him with his helpless fury and boundless fear. “No sir, it was just… just panic. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, but I was ashamed.” He had no way to protect himself or anyone else, the way the room was laid out. “Sir, what happened to Twelve? It was practice, sir. Just practice, he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He was clearly a bad influence on you,” Shaw said, sighing heavily. “We put him down this morning. It was not quick.” He shook his head. “If you hadn’t _attacked_ , this all could have been sorted out… but now the two of you have ruined everything. We’ll have to clean house. Restart all of this from scratch.”

Put him down this morning. Put him down this morning. Erik felt himself shaking as he stared up at Shaw, trying to understand. Twelve had been _killed_ and it was Erik’s fault because he _knew_ how Shaw was, he knew Shaw was cruel and possessive, and Erik _knew_ that it was a terrible idea to get that close to anyone. He’d known that for years and still he had pursued a relationship with Twelve, with that gorgeous, wonderful telepath who had captured his heart since the first time he had seen him. He had known that defiance would get Twelve hurt and yet he’d left him alone. He hadn’t protected him. He never have left Twelve’s side, he should have taken care of him. 

Erik would never see those eyes light again, would never hear him laugh again. Erik would never argue with him about something stupid in one of his books, would never kiss him again. He would never wake up again to that insane hair and beautiful smile. He felt a sound escape him as it fully hit him that Twelve was dead because he, Erik, hadn’t stopped him and then he’d left him alone… and _then_ , Erik had attacked Shaw instead of talking him through it, using charm and logic like Twelve would have.

Well, maybe that wasn’t true, he realized in a distant part of himself that would have almost been amused any other time. Twelve had always been ready to challenge Shaw, ready to snarl. He wouldn’t snarl anymore, his countless arguments with Erik about who deserved respect all coming to naught.

And Erik still didn’t even know his name.

“What was his name?” Erik squeezed his eyes closed, barely able to speak through the painful lump in his throat, to try and contain the shaking that was racking his frame. It took a conscious effort to keep his voice from cracking, but he wouldn’t cry in front of Shaw, he wouldn’t cry at all. He was a man, he wasn’t a child. “Tell me his real name. It wasn’t Twelve.”

“No.” Shaw’s voice was sharp. “He was just a number, just a notch on the wall. Not important enough for you to memorialize or mourn, you pathetic _fool_. He doesn’t matter to you enough to know his name. The only name you need is mine.” 

Erik yanked on his bonds, baring his teeth at Shaw. “You’ve taken everything else, give me that. It’s not anything to you, what the fuck does it matter if I know his name? He’s _gone_. Give me his name!” His voice rose, cracked, and he shut my mouth quickly, trying to get hold of himself. He wouldn’t break down in front of Shaw. Not him.

“No,” Shaw repeated coldly, furiously, and Erik snarled, then felt every muscle in his body freeze at a soft brush against his mind. For one moment, one split second, he hoped beyond reason… but no, it was Emma’s coldness brushing against Erik’s thoughts. He couldn’t see her, but she couldn’t be too far away, clearly keeping an eye on the progress of the conversation. He readied to raise his shields and shove her out, the grief and rage flickering for control for a moment, but then--

 _Charles_ , she told Erik quietly, her tone almost sad but not quite. _His name was Charles._

Tears threatened and he squeezed his eyes closed, trying to maintain his breathing. Thank you. She was a bitch, but at least she had that much heart to her. Thank you, Emma. Charles. Of course his name was Charles, that was a perfect name for him. Beautiful and formal and British. Gorgeous.

 _He had a beautiful mind_. And it was odd, the tiny touch of regret and respect to her tone. Not enough to betray Shaw, not enough to save Charles ( _Charles_ , Erik’s mind echoed again, tasting it in conjunction with the image of his blue eyes) but she did, in her way, feel remorse at this. She had to, of course. Anyone meeting Charles would feel the same way. He did have a beautiful mind. She withdrew from his mind sharply at the realization, leaving almost too quickly, and Erik focused on his breathing for another minute, straining to regain control. It did help the screaming pain in his chest, a little, that at the end, she had been there, maybe in his mind. Someone not completely cruel or evil, someone who respected who and what he was, if nothing else.

Maybe he hadn’t fully died alone.

It was another beat before Shaw spoke again, and then he seemed to be straining for a tone of calm. “I’m going to leave you here,” he told Erik, and he opened his eyes to see an expression almost like sadness on his face as he watched the younger man process. “If you live, I’m sure you’ll seek me out. You can’t not, my beautiful monster. If you don’t live… well. I certainly don’t regret our time together. The next batch of trainees will be done right. I’ll learn from this. It won’t be for naught. Your contribution could never be meaningless.”

Erik searched his face, his battered, grieving brain struggling to process, then frowned slowly as he understood what was actually being said. “You’re going to leave me here? Locked up like this?” The horror of a slow death of starvation and thirst crept up on him. 

“Don’t look at me like that!” Shaw’s foot lashed out with sudden rage, crashing into his rib cage. “I didn’t want this! I wanted you, I wanted us and victory _together!_ This was your decision, this was _your_ fault! We could have done _so much_ , and you _pissed it all away!_ ” He kicked again, harder, repeating as his rage built. “Pissed away _everything we built!_ ”

Erik gritted his teeth, fairly certain something in his ribs had snapped, but at this point, he didn’t care. Shaw had said _clean house_ , Erik registered suddenly. Not only Twelve, but Ten and Eleven, too. They’d all been killed and if Erik hadn’t attacked Shaw… grief gripped him again, stabbing him like a thousand knives, and Erik closed his eyes. “If you’d tried to be anything other than a mad scientist with his sad little experiments, maybe it would have worked. As is, all you did was torture us.”

Shaw grabbed Erik by his hair, yanking his head back. “I made you,” he growled. “I made you into a man, into a force of nature, into the most powerful weapon you could ever have dreamt of being. You would be _nothing_ and _no one_ without me, and just because some British _faggot_ tried to convince you otherwise for a few months doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” He released him roughly, breathing hard, looking vaguely unhinged. “The rest of the experiments are dead. If you survive this and find a way out- and I do think you can, you are my prize, after all, then you can find me then and we can reevaluate where to go from here.”

Ten and Eleven _were_ gone. 

Erik closed his eyes, resting his head back against the floor as he fought the aching lump in his throat. He had gotten them all killed. His stupidity, his rashness and emotional reactions had gotten them murdered. Three complete innocents… well, at least two. Ten was sometimes just as violent as Erik was, but that didn’t mean that she had deserved to die. She had been good to Twelve, _to Charles, his name was Charles_ , and to Eleven. And to Erik himself, when he’d needed it. He didn’t open his eyes and look at Shaw, not wanting to look at him again, keeping the image of Charles in front of his eyes instead. “I’m going to kill you, Shaw,” he said quietly. “Whether it’s today or in twenty years. I will get you and make you pay for their lives in blood. I can’t wait.”

“Nor can I.” His grip on Erik’s chin was bruisingly tight, and then he was walking away, the plexiglass door swinging shut behind him and his feet echoing up the stairs.

Erik waited until he was gone before he allowed himself to scream until his throat bled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, y'all, that's a wrap. Originally this was all going to be one big book, but Clarke and I realized that this is a natural (albeit grim) ending for a first 'part'. 'Present' time will be in its own book, will be longer, and is up now! Don't worry-- I love Erik far too much to leave him this unhappy for too terribly long.
> 
> Thank you to those of you who read this! It is our first fic on AO3, and those of you who left kudos or comments made our days with every single one. I hope to see you all in the next book to fix what we broke!


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